


Can't I just say come back?

by QuiteFetching



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Awkward Flirting, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Comfort Sex, Courage, Demisexuality, Emails, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Fluff with feelings, Long-Distance Relationship, Memories, Memory Loss, Music, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Reunions, Sexting, Support, Technology, Temporary Amnesia, Texting, YouTube, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuiteFetching/pseuds/QuiteFetching
Summary: A modern AU where Delia still goes home to Wales after her accident, but she and Patsy stay in contact, because... technology. Following their relationship as it progresses through her recovery via text and FaceTime etc.First few chapters are only really rated M for swearing and vague implied attraction, but later ones do get significantly more...intimate.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 153
Kudos: 181





	1. Patsy

**Author's Note:**

> Posted because Am_Shady is a terrible influence at planting ideas (although this is nowhere near Omega'verse! Not yet, at least) and this concept wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> This modern take is mostly in line with the canon timescale for Delia's recovery, but canon conversations are occasionally split up/mixed to fit the fact they remain in touch. Each chapter is either from Patsy or Delia's perspective, and labelled accordingly. Thoughts appreciated.

**Patsy! I can write again! Or type, I guess, in**

**Whoops, didn’t mean to press send. Clearly my dexterity isn’t quite there yet, hehe. But yes, I can write. Mam didn’t want give me my phone back, but Tad said she had to because my seizures aren’t photosensitive and anyway I haven’t had one in three weeks. Then he told me I should text you. He said you’ve been emailing him your rota when you get it. I looked and apparently today’s your day off, so hopefully this won’t disturb you. Tad’s been talking about you every day and says you’ve been a brilliant friend. Thank you. I need friends right now. Gosh, I’m rambling, but I hope you’re well. Delia**

When her phone buzzed, Patsy only glanced at it, not bothered enough to put down her book. This was the first full day off she had taken in a month and, although she had at first been frustrated with Phyllis for insisting on it, now she was glad. She needed a rest, even if it meant she had too much time to think, and she didn’t want to let go of the only successful distraction she had discovered so far: reading _My Stroke of Insight_ by the neuroscientist Dr Jill Bolte Taylor. It wasn’t about the same kind of injury as Delia’s, but she was finding it useful to have the personal perspective of a professional who had experienced something even vaguely similar. And she wasn’t ready to be interrupted.

Then there was a second buzz, so she let herself look properly, and the name in the notification made her squeal. Slamming the book down on her desk, she finally had a reason to be grateful that Trixie had pushed her into getting a smartphone. Sliding across the lock-screen with a shaking thumb, she entered her password, and tapped out a text in reply:

_Well, this is the best news I’ve had in my life!_

She hit send, unable to say any more, and immediately regretted letting emotion get in the way. But she had yet another reason to thank Trixie for her persistence – the three dots that showed someone was responding appeared within just a few seconds, so Delia apparently didn’t mind.

**Really?**

_Yes! I’m thrilled for you. And I’ve missed you._

The three dots appeared quickly again, but stuck around a lot longer this time, and she felt herself getting antsy after being so open, so picked up her book. She was nearly at the chapter titled “Milestones for Recovery”. That was very appropriate in the current circumstances, she thought, smiling as her phone buzzed again.

**Aww. Yes, I suppose you have. From the photos of us on my phone we seem to have been very close friends.**

Her smile vanished now, her heart aching at the past tense and distanced tone of these words, as well as the memory of Delia’s mother insisting she delete any of the images that could come across as _more_ than “friendly” before her daughter was discharged and taken home. And their entire message thread since they’d both, at last, had smartphones. Of course she’d backed it all up elsewhere, but…

**Have I upset you? I’m sorry I don’t remember everything yet. I wish I did.**

The phone buzzing in her hand made her jump, and she nearly threw it across the room involuntarily. But it was a _precious_ tool for communication, now, so some part of her brain didn’t dare let it drop.

_No!_

She shot this single word back as soon as her grip was restored. Then she felt she should elaborate, so she did:

_No, Deels! I just… well, we WERE very close, and I’d like to be again if you’d want that too and feel you can trust me enough to try. But you don’t have to apologise for any of this. It’s not your fault at all._

To her relief, three dots sprang up almost as soon as she’d sent the second text, and she got three successive replies.

**Thank you.**

**You’re very kind.**

**And I do want to try again. Also, “Deels”? I like that.**

She grinned again at this last bit, relieved that her slip had gone over okay.

_I’m glad. It’s what I call you._

As she sent that, she wondered if the present tense was too much, but it was true; she had never stopped. And the response she received convinced her it had been the right choice.

**Do I have a nickname for you?**

_Yes_ , she typed tentatively, before deleting it and trying a different tack to find out if the younger woman could work it out on her own.

_What do you think it should be?_

**Um**

**I don’t know**

**Urgh**

Devastated by the distress she might be causing, she quickly responded:

_Hey, it’s okay. Do you want me to tell you?_

**I want to REMEMBER**.

Those capital letters choked her up for multiple reasons, but she kept herself level for both their sakes.

_I know you do. And, because you’re remembering other things, I very much hope you will. But we can make NEW memories too._

**I guess we can. But for that you need a nickname…**

She knew this was a tactic, and would give in if necessary, but she had one last trick up her sleeve first. She knew visual cues could be more effective in encouraging cognition, so:

_Deels, could I video call you?_

**How?**

_On FaceTime._

**Oh, THAT’S what it’s for! Of course.**

_Great. Two secs_.

She hit the required button and, holding her breath as it rang, waited for the face of her favourite Welshwoman to appear on the screen. Then, exhaling, she said, ‘Hello, Deels,’ not brave enough for much beyond the basics.

‘Hello,’ the brunette replied, apparently just as nervous. Then she scrunched up her face in disappointment. ‘I thought this might help me remember, but it hasn’t. I’m –’

The redhead cut her off. ‘Uh-uh. No apologies,’ she reminded gently. ‘I thought it might help too – that’s why I suggested it – but sometimes things aren’t so simple. It’s okay, I’m just glad to see you.’

Delia’s expression was now full of doubt. ‘I bet I look as terrible as I did in hospital, the bruising hasn’t faded much.’

Patsy shook her head comfortingly, using the movement to mask the fact that she was choosing her words very carefully, to stop herself from blurting out that her favourite face looked as adorable as always. ‘It’s a sign of what you’ve been through, nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the opposite actually.’

The Welshwoman stared for a moment – then shook her own head. ‘Sorry,’ she said, and the Englishwoman watched, intrigued, as she blushed. ‘It’s just – that’s the kindest thing anyone’s said to me since my accident. That I can remember, anyway,’ she added, giggling sheepishly.

Patsy was grateful the humour offered a chance to deflect, because she could hide the weird mixture of relief and hurt she was feeling at the realisation that Delia did not remember her _own_ words, spoken this time last year when the redhead had been having a particularly bad “grief Grinch” day, as the brunette had jokingly come to call them. The relief was because it was far too early to bring up any of that; the hurt because she wanted Delia to know how wise she was. But that was wishful thinking, and she had promised Huw she would be patient. Not to mention herself. Heaven knew she ought to have it down pat by now, she thought with a small grin, as she searched for something else to say. ‘It’s true. And I’m glad I can remind you of it.’

‘I’m glad too,’ Delia said as she smiled, eyes bright, and Patsy had to bite the inside of her cheek as the younger woman continued talking, scared that even a sigh would let on just how in love with her she still was. ‘Thank you for sticking by me. It must’ve felt like a long wait, even if it was only a month, and you have to keep waiting now because it’s as though we’re starting again.’

‘It was worth it for today,’ the redhead insisted, ‘and I’m here to help with whatever happens next. You kept me going through training, Deels; it’s about time I returned the favour.’

The brunette grinned widely now. ‘Yes, Tad said we’ve been friends that long.’ She paused, ‘and I think there are some photos from back then on my phone. I’ll have a look through them again later. I haven’t wanted to spend too long because it feels weird that I don’t remember.’ Then her face fell. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive.’

Patsy shook her head, repeating her phrase from earlier in their short conversation. ‘Uh-uh. No apologies. It makes sense.’

‘It does?’ Delia sounded surprised, but pleased.

‘Yes,’ Patsy said, nodding. ‘I’ll tell you why sometime. Not now, though, we don’t want to tire you out on our first chat. We should probably hang up, actually,’ she went on, her nurse mode winning out over her heart.

Delia pouted. ‘But I’ll miss you.’

‘We can still text. It’s just better for you not to be looking at a screen solidly.’

‘All right,’ the brunette responded with a grumble, ‘but before you go, I’ve got an appointment at the London to see Mr Hendry –’

‘The neuro chap?’ the redhead put in for clarification, blushing immediately at having interrupted.

But Delia just found another smile and nodded. ‘And then another with the rehabilitation people. They’ll tell me then when I can go back to work. _If_ I can. It might be months. But, as I’ll be there for those appointments, could I pop into Maternity and visit you?’

‘Oh yes, of course you could come here,’ Patsy agreed, almost pleading, ‘I know everyone would be so pleased to see you!’

Delia’s brows creased in confusion and panic drained the colour from her face as _she_ now asked for clarification. ‘Everyone? But my medical history notes say I worked on the Surgical ward, not Maternity.’

‘You did, yes, and so did I until not that long ago,’ Patsy confirmed hurriedly, concealing yet also revealing nothing. ‘Take a deep breath, Deels, you’re right. But once I moved onto Maternity you much preferred to join me and my colleagues to hang out after work. Trixie and Barbara (or Babs) especially. Babs is your age, and she’s pretty much your best friend. Except for me of course.’ She paused here to wink, hoping it would diffuse the tension, then continued as she thought she saw a glimmer of a smile. ‘And the older nurses there know you quite well, too. Julienne, and Phyllis.’

At this addition, however, Delia welled up, her lip quivering as she tried to stop tears from spilling over. ‘Sorry,’ she said, looking down into her lap.

‘No, I should be apologising,’ Patsy replied, wishing she could reach into the screen to soothe things through touch, but hoping her words would do. ‘I shouldn’t’ve mentioned so many people so quickly and expected you to remember them just like that.’

The Welshwoman looked up again and shook her head, her accent thick with emotion as she spoke. ‘It’s not that. It’s the opposite. It’s my Mam. She doesn’t want me to come back to London to live. Or to nurse.’

The Englishwoman heard her own accent ring out as a rebuttal to this. ‘Why not, if you’re well enough?’

She could have sworn she heard Delia scoff, but that might have been the connection jumping. ‘In her mind I’ll never be well enough,’ the smaller woman said, and the taller woman choked on a sigh as she went on, ‘but she’s been trying to convince me that no-one would notice or care if I didn’t come back, anyway. And you talking about all of these people who know me well is proof that isn’t the case.’

Tears spilt after the end of this sentence, and Patsy wanted to punch Enid Busby. As that was impossible, she settled for positive reinforcement of the proof Delia at last felt she had. ‘The number of people who have asked after you in the last month, even awful girls from training, would certainly suggest otherwise,’ she started, offering abstract evidence prior to specific examples, ‘and Trix and Babs will be pestering me to come over for a group FaceTime the moment I mention we’ve chatted today. I won’t let them until you tell me you’re ready, though.’

The brunette smiled again, reaching to grab a tissue to wipe her eyes and face. ‘You’re so lovely, thank you. It means a lot that they’ll want to catch up, but I think we should wait a while. My energy levels aren’t quite up to more than one person at a time.’

The redhead smiled too. ‘I understand,’ she said softly, ‘and I understand if we can’t do this very often either.’

Delia gasped in horror. ‘No, talking to you doesn’t count; it makes me feel much better. But I’m glad we can text, to fit around your shifts – and so Mam can’t be too controlling,’ she finished with a giggle.

Patsy joined in with the giggle, if through slightly gritted teeth. ‘Well, shall I have a check of my rota and we can liaise to schedule in another chat? And in the meantime, as you say, we can text.’

‘Perfect,’ the smaller woman nodded.

You are, yes, the taller woman thought, but bit the inside of her cheek as she said, ‘You hang up this time, and then we can take turns.’

Delia nodded again, grinning. ‘All right. Text in a bit. Diolch, Patsy – thank you for everything.’

Patsy grinned back as the call ended, too overwhelmed again to manage anything else, then put down her phone to pinch herself and check she wasn’t dreaming. The resultant pain in her arm also provided a distraction from another sensation in a rather different part of her body, which had gradually crept up on her during the chat. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but still mortifying. Their new connection was purely platonic, at least for now, and she felt ashamed at her arousal – especially as Delia didn’t know.

But she was determined not to let her body’s reactions ruin an absolutely wonderful afternoon. And she had someone else to thank for making it happen. So, picking up her phone, before texting Delia, she opened up her personal email account to type out a message:

From: Patsy Mount <[patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk](mailto:patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk)>

To: Huw Busby <[huwbusby1952@gmail.com](mailto:huwbusby1952@gmail.com)>

Subject: Thank you and a quick update

Hi Huw,

Just a note to thank you ever so much for keeping me in your conversations with Delia and encouraging her to text me now she has the ability again. It means an awful lot. We’ve had some communication this afternoon and just finished a FaceTime call. She’ll probably have told you herself by the time you get this, but I wanted to say a private thank you – not least because she mentioned she has some follow up appointments soon and asked if she could come to see all of us at work. I really hope that will be possible. What do you think?

Patsy

Satisfied the tone was warm without seeming pushy (because her relationship with the man she had once hoped to call her father-in-law had shifted quite significantly in the last nightmare of a month) she hit send, and flicked through to her message app:

_Thanks for a lovely chat, Deels. It really was so wonderful to see your face and hear your voice again. I feel so lucky to have you back in my life._

As she sent off those three sentences, her phone vibrated and a notification popped up with a reply from Huw. Even before she tapped on the message, the preview of the beginning made her heart melt. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to his kindness, but was now eager to read the rest:

From: Huw Busby <[huwbusby1952@gmail.com](mailto:huwbusby1952@gmail.com)>

To: Patsy Mount <[patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk](mailto:patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk)>

Dim problem, Patsy, cariad – anything for my girl’s favourite girl – you know I don’t hold with Enid’s theories about Delia’s affection for you, or her attraction to women, being specific to living in London. Or with her methods to try and mould her memory as she recovers. The more you get to chat, the better, in my opinion, and I’ll do everything in my power to get her to Maternity on the day of her appointments. My only concern is that she isn’t overwhelmed in the meantime, which I think you share – so can I just ask, has she found out about Facebook yet? Huw

As she reached the end of the message, she realised her face was sore from smiling, so pulled herself together and responded as quickly as her fingers and the touch-screen would permit:

From: Patsy Mount <[patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk](mailto:patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk)>

To: Huw Busby <[huwbusby1952@gmail.com](mailto:huwbusby1952@gmail.com)>

Diolch yn fawr iawn, Huw – you are so very kind! As for Facebook, no, I don’t think so. I deleted the app from her phone before you left for Tenby (as per Enid’s instruction…) and I also altered her privacy settings to be sure she wouldn’t get any random and potentially confusing messages. It’s possible she might be checking her emails now and it was unrealistic (not to mention unethical!) for me to delete all of those, but since she didn’t even realise what FaceTime was for when I suggested it, that seems unlikely. Same with WhatsApp, I’d say, because the girls and I put it about that her phone was smashed when… well.

Make sense?

Patsy

The tone of her second email felt much less satisfactory. Particularly the end part. But she didn’t have a clue how else to put it, so she hit send, hoping he wouldn’t think she was being flippant – and relief flooded through her when his answer arrived only a few minutes later:

From: Huw Busby <[huwbusby1952@gmail.com](mailto:huwbusby1952@gmail.com)>

To: Patsy Mount <[patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk](mailto:patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk)>

Perfect sense, thanks Patsy. You really have thought of everything. Not that I should be surprised, mind – tidying is your self-proclaimed forte, after all. Now you stop humouring an old man and use your day off to reconnect with my daughter. (I’m at work, but Delia just texted me to say you’ve had a chat, and I can feel her happiness through the screen.)

Her grin returned along with his reassurance, and she was tempted to send him a third note saying another thank you, but aware he was at work, so she restrained herself and decided to make do with the rest of her book. Just as she stretched to pick it up, though, her phone buzzed again – this time signalling a text:

**Thank YOU for a lovely chat. And for putting up with my brain. It’s such a relief to have someone who doesn’t mind, and to put a moving, breathing person to the name – and the face in my photos. They don’t quite do you justice.**

Her heart leapt at the last sentence and she bit her lip. What the hell was she supposed to say to that!?

Trying to calm down, she tapped out what was hopefully a nonchalant reply:

_Haha well, we were quite young in lots of them, it was my awkward fresher phase. Not that I ever grew out of it._

She felt a twinge of guilt at leaving out the fact that she’d not been as young as the rest of the students on the course, but then three dots appeared and she pushed herself to be patient.

**No, I don’t think I’ve got that far back yet…**

Three dots didn’t appear again, but she couldn’t formulate a response, and focused solely on her breathing for fear she might otherwise hyperventilate. This was ridiculous! She really _hadn’t_ grown out of that awkwardness…

Thankfully her attention was captured again as three dots did appear.

**Hang on – did you used to be blonde?**

She was now mildly terrified that things were moving faster than _either_ of them could cope with, but there was really only one way to answer that:

_Yes. Why?_

The three dots held her on tenterhooks…

**How on earth did a country bumpkin like me wind up with such a sophisticated best friend?**

She let out a strangled squeak at the wording of the question, but then realised she had the perfect opportunity to deflect with humour, just as Delia had on the video call:

_You fell on me, actually. First day of uni._

**I didn’t!?**

She could almost hear the horror in her favourite voice, and smirked as she shot back:

_Mhmm._

**Oh dear god. I’m so sorry!**

Now she felt bad about having a little fun, so softened, and sent:

_Don’t be. It set us up very well. And anyway, no apologies. Especially not unnecessary ones. If you hadn’t fallen on me, we wouldn’t be friends, and that would be terrible. Story time, Deels?_

**Yes please, Patsy – it might help me out with your nickname.**

She giggled at the reminder that, as ever, Delia’s determination was the most adorable (if occasionally frustrating) thing about her. It set her in good stead for the rest of her recovery, she realised, as she left her desk to flop onto her bed with her phone:

_It might just. All righty then, Busby, buckle up…_

**Don’t you mean “scrub up”, if it’s about our degree?**

_You still like terrible puns, then_. _Glad to hear it._

**I think it would take more than a brain injury to change that.**

Patsy was already mid-way through typing out the first bit of her story, and nearly didn’t notice the reply, but when she saw it, she laughed until her sides ached.

She hadn’t felt this good in a month.

Phyllis was going to be smug tomorrow, but she couldn’t care less.


	2. Delia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a week into their new contact, Delia has something to share with Patsy, and this convinces Patsy to share as well. Eventually.
> 
> Featuring bonus supportive Huw, helping his daughter process her new(ish) life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short note on the subject of this chapter - Patsy talks about her childhood and grief, but that is all in one text and very brief in relation to the rest.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your very kind feedback and for leaving kudos. I'm a bit surprised by how well this has been received, and your encouragement is much appreciated.

**Morning, Patsy.**

**Shit, I’ve just realised you’ll already be on duty, I’m sorry.**

**Don’t feel you have to reply immediately. I’ve just got something good to share with you and I got overexcited.**

Delia burrowed down into her duvet, trying to push away the panic that she was imposing on her friend when really they’d been talking for barely a week. But then she reasoned that that was only properly true for her, and Patsy was probably feeling _she_ shouldn’t push. Choosing to focus on the second option, she breathed in, held it, and breathed out again. Feeling steadier, she flicked out of messages and into photos, aware of a silly grin spreading across her face the second she saw the one she still had up. It was a selfie of her and Patsy, presumably taken quite soon after they’d _actually_ first met, since the older girl still had blonde hair – and they were both wearing what seemed to be their secondary school shirts and ties. She liked it because they were pulling ridiculous expressions, which meant they were having fun, and because Patsy looked relaxed in a way she had never seen before.

That’s probably because she’s been worrying about you, she thought to herself, feeling her phone move against her palm as her hand shook.

She bit her lip, then took another deep breath, and focused on the photo again. It made her stomach flip, but in a nice way… it meant so much that she’d had such a good friend for so long…

Yes, that was it. That was why she liked this one so much.

That and the fact that Patsy had her hair in plaits, a quiet internal voice said.

But she was too busy trying to make it her lock-screen picture – and, as this effort was itself a distraction from guilt at being such a cause of concern for her friend, she hardly noticed that extra, much nicer, little niggle.

And then a notification popped up to say Patsy had replied to her texts. She tapped on it, and was taken to messages, where the photo and her earlier panic were promptly forgotten:

_Don’t worry, Deels – I’m not with patients – just sorting through supplies._

**Why do I feel like we got stuck with that job a lot during our degree?**

She watched as three dots sprang up, and wondered if her friend felt the same comfort when she saw them. Probably not, she decided. Patsy wouldn’t be nearly as insecure.

_Because we did. I never really minded it, though. I quite like keeping things clean and tidy._

**Weirdo.**

She shot that back without thinking, almost instinctively, and cringed at herself for sending it.

**Sorry, that was rude.**

Three dots appeared again, and she bit her lip, holding her breath.

_You said that then, too._

**Did I? I must’ve been very annoying.**

She sent that reply because she wasn’t sure about the tone of Patsy’s, and worried more at her lip as she waited.

_You were adorable._

Oh. What did that mean?

_In the way you were always so keen to help. I’d be having much more fun if you were here right now._

She still wasn’t sure how to take the turn of this conversation, and her brain was a bit confused by, well, everything, today, so she didn’t respond immediately this time – and in the moment she took to think, Patsy sent another text.

_Anyway. What did you want to tell me?_

At this, Delia puffed out a relieved sigh.

**Your nickname.**

She knew this would seem like a tease, but she really just needed a second to find the courage to share. She was fairly certain she’d got it right, and the same as… before… but not _completely_. The three dots came up very fast, though, and Patsy’s apparent eagerness made her brave.

_Oh?_

She grinned at the simple question.

**It’s “Pats”, isn’t it?**

She couldn’t stop her smile getting slightly tight as she waited. What if it was wrong?

_Yes. Yes it is._

She grinned again, then laughed, the movement stopping her from sending anything back for a bit and leaving space for another reply from her friend.

_Oh gosh. Deels, that’s made my day. YOU’VE made my day._

She laughed louder, but forced her fingers to stay steady enough to type:

**Isn’t it a bit early to declare something like that?**

_No._

_NO!_

She giggled at the emphasis, and was about to quip back that that must mean a very boring day ahead indeed, but a third text arrived before she could.

_What helped you remember it, if you don’t mind me asking?_

She tapped her reply out fast so she wouldn’t overthink it too much:

**I found a photo of us, I think from when we were freshers?**

The tentative question was answered with three more…

_Oh?_

_Which one?_

_Send it to me?_

…followed by what seemed to be an explanation for her friend’s excitement:

_You were in charge of the camera for shots like that back then, I didn’t have a smartphone._

She stared at her screen, confused by how someone so sophisticated wouldn’t’ve wanted what seemed to her like such a useful device.

**What!? Why?**

_I thought they were weird. But I’m glad I’ve got one now, so we can FaceTime. Send me the picture, please, Deels?_

**All right, Pats, hehe. Two secs.**

She found the right function in the message, and did as asked, waiting for the three dots and worrying at her lip yet again.

_Oh, that was in second year. We were…a lot closer by then._

She was intrigued, so sent back:

**What do you mean?**

Three dots sprang up, but stuck around, and then all she got was:

_The date on the photo shows it’s from second year, see?_

Followed by a screenshot as proof, and:

_I’d never’ve let you give me a nickname before then. Or given you one. I have walls._

She was even more intrigued now, obviously. And touched, honestly.

**So you mean you trusted me enough to let me beyond them?**

_Yes._

**Wow.**

Slightly overwhelmed by this revelation, despite not knowing the substance of what had been shared, she shifted the tone with a joke:

**I guess it turned out perfectly then. Your secrets are safe, because I forgot.**

Unfortunately Patsy seemed not to take it as such, as she got five texts back, sent at an almost frantic speed:

_No!_

_No Deels._

_Don’t you ever think that._

_You’re my safe space._

_It was such a relief that you knew._

Tearing up a little at the mixed tenses in the last two texts, she typed back:

**Oh, Pats. I’m so sorry I don’t know now. Would it help if you told me again? If you think I’m worthy, that is.**

Three dots appeared, but took their time, and she got a little nervous – but when the message eventually arrived, she realised she needn’t have been.

_Of course you’re worthy, Deels. I just don’t want to give you too much to process at once. I promised Huw I wouldn’t._

In fact she felt rather annoyed, and said so:

**Patsy. That isn’t your choice – or Tad’s. Duw, Mam’s making enough of an effort trying to wrap me in cotton wool, she doesn’t need your help! I’ve had a traumatic brain injury. I’m not a child! Iesu Mawr, just when I think I’ve found (or re-found) a friend who understands and won’t treat me differently, you come out with something like that.**

She turned her phone over and had to do her breathing thing until the reply came through, even though it was quite short in comparison:

_You’re right. I’m sorry Deels. I just have a tendency to protect people I care about and I care about YOU an awful lot._

Her heart melted at the sincerity in these three sentences, and she regretted her outburst, so figured this was one time they both needed to apologise:

**I’m sorry too. That wasn’t fair of me, the frustration isn’t really at you, and I care about you as well. So much. But that’s why I want to be able to support you like you’re supporting me. That’s what friends do.**

She sent it, and turned her phone over again, hoping her friend’s next reply would be longer – and it was, a bit:

_You’re right. And I know you do. And please don’t apologise for being frustrated, it’s completely understandable. As you say, you’re not a child, and you don’t deserve to be treated like one._

The validation of her feelings was a surprise, and she blinked back tears as she sent a single word:

**Sure?**

This time she kept her phone face up, and was relieved when three dots appeared almost immediately.

_Yes. Delia, you’re twenty-four._

She laughed scornfully and shot back:

**When I said that to my mother, she said, “and it’s only by the grace of God you’ll see twenty-five”.**

The three dots were just as quick this time, despite the length of the eventual message she received, and she was grateful that at least one of them had good dexterity.

_Well, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, I don’t go in for that kind of emotional manipulation. I’m also a nurse, so I should know better than to patronise anyone with a medical condition. Especially a friend as close as you. But maybe it’s BECAUSE we’re friends and I feel so emotionally involved. Perhaps if this were after your appointments I’d be a bit more strident. Either way, that’s no excuse, and I’m sorry. If you think you’re ready, I’ll tell you._

If her heart had melted earlier, it now hurt, because the anguish in these words was evident. She could also sense how much it’d taken for Patsy to open up. And she thought she would’ve done even without the earlier part of their conversation, about walls. She therefore composed her reply very carefully:

**Oh, Pats. I’m sorry. And I don’t mean that in an “I’m feeling guilty” way, just an empathic one. You’ve been so lovely to me the last little while that there hasn’t been much space for YOUR emotions about all this.**

She wanted to say more, but something told her it was sensible to go in stages, and (when three dots appeared and she read the message which arrived after them) she was glad she had.

_There doesn’t need to be. This is about you._

She rolled her eyes, something about her friend’s response feeling very familiar, and sent:

**That’s a load of cachiad, Pats, and you know it. That is, if you know what “cachiad” means.**

This was answered by the appearance of three dots for long enough that it seemed she _did_ know, and the reply confirmed it.

_Haha. That made me literally laugh out loud. Of course I do, Deels. God, I’ve missed you swearing. All right, you got me._

She giggled, but didn’t feel at all triumphant, and typed back:

 **That’s why your rota’s been so full, isn’t it?**

_… Maybe._

She giggled again, but her reply was serious:

**Thought as much. Now, if you feel safe enough in the privacy of the supply cupboard, I’m here to listen. Or read, I guess. Unless you’d rather wait until you’re off duty and we can FaceTime.**

She wondered briefly if she was being too direct, but she had a feeling it was sometimes necessary, and the response proved her right.

_No, now’s fine. I’m not very good at talking face-to-face. About anything. But especially about this. Are you sure you’re ready, though?_

She thought for a moment, and then responded in the affirmative:

**Yes. My amnesia’s retrograde, so I’m going to remember at some point anyway, and I think it might help to have some warning. Not just about this. About everything.**

She added the last sentence for clarification, uncertain how the message would be read otherwise, but Patsy’s response blew any remaining worries away.

_Mmm. That makes a lot of sense, actually. Unexpected memories can be awful when they resurface, even if you know they might._

She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but three dots showed her Patsy was already typing again, so she waited.

_And on that note – how much has Huw told you about my life before we met?_

The question seemed very delicately phrased, and her heart hurt again, as she replied simply:

**Just that you grew up in Singapore and moved over here to board for secondary.**

She waited again. Patsy had been patient, waiting for her over the last month, so she could do the same now, she reminded herself, as she read the message which finally arrived.

_Right. Well, the reason I moved over is that my mother and younger sister died of dengue fever when I was 11. It’s a disease carried by mosquitoes, so it isn’t contagious, and it’s actually very rarely fatal – but this was still quite some time before a vaccine was developed and it’s more risky in kids and people with weakened immune systems, which apparently my mother had. So my father packed me off to boarding school in a panic, where I was held back a lot (3 years) because they were concerned about my emotional wellbeing and didn’t want to overstretch me physically either in case I had the same immune issues as Mum. Then, after a gap year for some intensive therapy, I decided I had to do something productive and chose to study nursing._

Protective tears smarting at the corner of her eyes, she sent back only:

**Oh, Pats.**

She wanted to give her friend space in case there was more to be said, but also knew it was important to acknowledge the precious information she had just been given.

_I hope it’s not too much all in one text; I just thought it might be easier to take in._

She grinned sadly and sent back:

**No apologies. It’s fine. And it was probably easier for you, too, eh?**

She nearly didn’t add the last sentence, worried it might seem flippant, but a part of her needed to nudge Patsy towards some sort of introspection. It felt like that was her role. And it didn’t go over terribly, although the three dots did hang around a while.

_Hmm. Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t really think about that. Anyway. Thank you for not making a big thing._

She was pretty sure the last point was about people’s reactions in general, and not her own, but she still wanted to check:

**Did I when you told me before?**

The question sparked off a series of reassuring answers…

_No!_

_The opposite._

_You reached over, squeezed my hand, and asked if you could give me a cwtch._

…followed by a longer gap, as three dots moved about for a bit; suggesting either a more involved message, or anxiety about how to word things. She smiled as she waited, pleased with the evidence of her past self’s response. It seemed in line with the character she was beginning to redraw. Then the smile turned to amused confusion when the fourth text popped up.

_And then you didn’t get grossed out when I started to cry on your shoulder._

**Why would I get grossed out? It’d be an honour you felt safe enough.**

_You said that then, too._

The repetition of the earlier phrase was probably an attempt at humour, but she took it as read, and replied sincerely:

**I’m glad. I meant it. And I mean it now.**

_Really?_

**Really. I wish I could be there with you.**

Three dots stuck around for some time, but the slight delay didn’t bother her any more. She was happy being helpful instead of being helped – and the text she got showed her how much it was needed.

 _You do?_ _You aren’t scared off? It isn’t too much to bear?_

She’d thought the first of these four questions was offhand, but the other three made her realise she’d been wrong in assuming her friend wouldn’t have any insecurities. So she answered with a query of her own:

**Are you scared off by my brain injury?**

Three dots, and the text they signalled, arrived much quicker, and she tried not to be too thrilled that her strategy had worked.

_Of course not!_

**Well then. My only concern is not being there, so I can’t give you a cwtch again. Especially talking about this so early. Are you going to be okay for the rest of your shift?**

She asked the last question directly for two reasons – because she wanted a direct answer but also to give her friend the option of deflecting after her reassurance. And it worked. Again. She was getting quite good at this, if she did say so herself.

_Yes. Being on duty is a distraction, and I have an enforced day off tomorrow, so I’ve scheduled a therapy session._

She giggled at the wording.

**Enforced?**

_Mhmm. By Phyllis. Julienne’s deputy._

She grinned now.

**I like Phyllis.**

She was a bit wary about sending that, because they hadn’t quite got back to being sassy, but this sort of back-and-forth felt as familiar as her need to nudge Patsy into reflection. She also, actually, wanted to be sure that she did indeed like Phyllis – and the reply she got confirmed she was right on both counts:

_You do, yes. You’re always ganging up on me – in a nice way._

Her smile grew. These chats were proving so comforting, giving her little snippets of her life… before… in a way that made her excited instead of anxious about remembering them for “real”. But she kept that to herself for now, and just said:

**I’m glad, hehe. And I’m glad you’ve booked in a therapy session. Is it with the same therapist from before uni?**

She wondered if the question was too intrusive, but Patsy had probably told her at some point already, and would hopefully consider it understandable. As it turned out, she did, and even gave more information than expected.

_Yes. Smithy. She shares a private practice in Chelsea with a few other women._

The name intrigued her, but she was nervous about asking too much just yet, particularly out of respect for Patsy’s privacy. So she simply offered support:

**I’m glad you’ve had someone to talk to for that long. It must take a while to build up that kind of trust.**

Three dots stuck around for what felt like an age, and she willed herself not to panic. She tried to remember that the majority of longer gaps had so far resulted in good, positive replies. But eventually her breathing got too erratic and she had to turn her phone over until it buzzed – at which point, as she probably ought to have predicted, she immediately calmed down.

_Hmm. I suppose so, yes. It certainly did with Smithy, because I was only 21 and had no clue how to start talking about my feelings after 10 years of bottling everything up. Our first sessions felt like tennis matches. She’d try and prompt me and I’d just repeat her statements. Eventually we got into a rhythm but it took an age. It was different with you, though, somehow._

The last sentence made her heart leap with a feeling she couldn’t quite place, so she just sent back:

**Really?**

Her single question received a single answer…

_Yes._

…but it was swiftly followed by a longer, and frankly adorable, ramble. It was also a bit surprising, although it made her happy.

_Once we started hanging out, then talking, it was as though I couldn’t stop myself sharing things with you. I’m sure you hardly got a word in edgeways. All the feelings fell out of me, hehe. You were just so good at listening, and so kind and supportive about what I told you._

**I was?**

_Yes. You don’t believe me?_

She hoped the reply was inquisitive, like hers, rather than an accusation, but her brain was still being silly, so she said as much:

**I do. It’s just, well, Mam keeps saying I talk too much and there isn’t any space for other people and I should keep quiet.**

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again, and disappeared again. She got a bit scared, and decided to scroll up through their chat. As she’d sent Patsy the selfie of them earlier, she could find (and stare at) it while she waited without switching apps. And it really helped. She still wasn’t sure exactly why, but it did.

But Patsy’s response, when she got it, helped even more – although it did turn out to be an emotional rollercoaster reading the whole thing.

_I hope you don’t think I’m badmouthing your mother without cause, but I’ve never met a person more eager to create space for other people than you. You absolutely ALWAYS encourage other people’s opinions – not just your friends but patients too. It’s what makes you such a good nurse. Sure, you’re chatty, but in an open way that makes you approachable and helps people feel safe to share. So don’t you ever feel you talk too much, okay? Also you’re so good at sitting in silence with someone when they need that. Sometimes they don’t even KNOW they need it, but they do, and you’re there so they can take some quiet time without feeling lonely._

Most of the message was comforting, and she was grateful, but the last sentence made her heart squeeze at the thought of her friend ever hurting so much and not feeling she could’ve asked for help. Except for therapy of course. But therapy was different. And then she was glad to have been there, and resolved to be there again. For now, though, all her own emotions meant she felt more comfortable deflecting in just the same way:

**That’s quite the reputation you’ve built for me, Pats. I’ll try my best to live up to it. Especially with you.**

If Patsy read the humour in her text, she nevertheless apparently chose to take it seriously, as Delia herself had done earlier.

_You do already, Deels._

She grinned, and was about to reply saying how much she loved having both their nicknames back, but a second text popped up.

_That’s why I felt okay to tell you about Mum and Grace this morning, even though I have the day shift to get through. Even though I was NERVOUS. Because, deep down, I knew you’d be supportive without being overly-emotional. And there isn’t really anyone else in my life like that. Not who knows EVERYTHING, anyway. Besides Smithy, perhaps, but she doesn’t really count because I pay her…_

She giggled and rolled her eyes at the joke and, deciding to play along with the deflection, shot back what she hoped would be an equally dry response:

 **You fool, Pats. But I guess it also means you don’t have to worry about slipping up, now.**

_I never like hiding things from you._

Something about that unexpectedly serious answer seemed cryptic, but she didn’t have time to register it properly, because it was followed by a return to humour.

_On that note, as much as I DO enjoy hiding in cupboards, I should really get back to stacking and then back on the ward. Will you be okay? I’ll text when I’m on my next break, and we can share a snack, virtually at least?_

She grinned and typed back:

**I’ll be fine. Thanks for the chat. And yes please to sharing snacks. It’s probably a good thing I’m not there, I’d be nicking half your food.**

_I wouldn’t complain. Catch you later._

She raised a brow, confused by what seemed like yet another cryptic message, but calmed herself by finding the selfie in their thread again and staring at it. She was – and thought she might always be – humbled by the fact that such a strong and sensitive person considered her worthy not just of friendship but sharing such significant parts of her life story.

But there was another feeling there, too, and one she couldn’t quite put her finger on… until she finally registered that her eyes kept drifting to Patsy’s plaits, and had been since she found the photo. And that her breath was catching as she looked at them, but in a different way to when she got anxious.

Oh.

Oh God.

Did this emotion mean what she thought it meant? She hoped so. At least she thought she did. Since she couldn’t text Patsy for a while (and she wasn’t sure she even wanted to anyway because, well, because), she flicked out of their chat and into another, tapping out a message as her hands shook with slightly nervous excitement:

**Tad, is the shop busy, or could I call you?**

Having sent it, she swore under her breath, realising she’d been vague and he’d worry. She started typing out at second text to explain she was okay but, before she could finish, her phone started vibrating and the screen showed a call from him. She answered and held it to her ear, whispering, ‘Helo, Tad.’

‘Delia, cariad, are you all right?’ Huw’s voice was tight but gentle.

‘Yes, Tad, I’m fine. I should’ve been more specific, I’m sorry to stress you out. It’s just I want to ask you something, but I’d rather Mam doesn’t hear, so thought I shouldn’t wait for you to get home. It’s why I’m whispering, too, and not speaking Welsh, because she seems to sense that no matter the volume.’

Her father chuckled softly, and his tone changed completely as he replied. ‘That’s fair enough. We’re quiet here today, so it’s nice to have some company. Fire away.’

She paused briefly to take a deep breath. ‘Well, um, I was just wondering –’ She broke off, her brain scrambling for how to put into words a feeling that seemed so familiar and yet so scary too. Not because she didn’t want it, but because she didn’t know if _he_ would, and also because she might be wrong.

‘Take your time, cariad,’ Huw put in, in the gap.

His calmness reminded her that he’d _tell her_ if she was wrong, and that was exactly why she’d wanted to call him. For confirmation. Either way. So she spoke up again. ‘What would you say if _I_ said I think I might… like women?’

Huw’s answer was much smoother than she’d expected. He even sounded almost relieved. ‘I’d say my girl’s coming back, bach.’

‘Really?’ The question rushed out before she could stop it.

‘Really.’ The smoothness remained, and now she thought she could hear a smile in his voice.

‘So I do, then? And you aren’t surprised?’ She just needed to check again, for comfort, however weird and awkward this conversation might be.

‘You do, yes. And no, I’m not surprised in the least. In fact, I’m proud of you. Especially for asking, because it must be very scary having to go through these feelings a second time.’

She was almost speechless with gratitude, but managed to squeak out, ‘Oh, Tad. Thank you.’

His voice got a bit gruff, and she wondered if he was feeling emotional too. ‘You’re welcome, Delia bach.’

She thought she should move on a little, and not keep him too long. ‘I haven’t actually remembered anything related yet,’ she explained, ‘but I found a photo from uni of me and Patsy and I can’t stop thinking about how cute she looks wearing plaits.’ She took a deep breath after what had turned into a very long sentence and felt herself going bright red as she registered her words. Why the _hell_ had she said that to _her father_!?

Huw seemed unbothered. ‘Ah,’ he said evenly, but she thought she could hear him holding back a chuckle. ‘Are you blushing, cariad?’

‘ _No!_ ’ she shrieked, before she could stop herself, then tried to calm her voice as she continued. ‘Do you think she’d mind, though?’

‘I don’t think that’s for me to answer, bach,’ he said gently.

She groaned. ‘I guess you’re right.’

‘But know I’m with you, in spirit at least, whenever you do decide to talk to her.’ He paused, and she heard the bell on the shop’s door jingle.

‘Go, Tad,’ she prompted him. ‘I’m fine, and I need a moment to think, anyway. I love you. I will grab a cwtch later, but I’m okay now.’

‘All right, bach. See you at six-ish, once I’ve shut up. And I love you too.’

They blew each other kisses on instinct, he ended the call, and she burrowed further down in her duvet to squeal with joy.


	3. Patsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy has a therapy session with Smithy, which is full of feelings, and then gets a text from Delia...
> 
> (Fluff. Fluff. Fluff.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (My computer bodged the first upload of this, sorry. Back now, though.)
> 
> My anxiety was super high last week (not helped one bit by Brexit) so I couldn't post. But this week I'm channelling Patsy's favourite approach to emotions - repression - which actually fits well with the beginning of this chapter. Ha.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Thanks so much for reading and commenting 😊

‘I can understand your desire to protect her, Patsy, because you know how painful memories can be. But Delia’s told you herself she’d rather know in advance if there’s anything especially important, and this seems to be in that category. So I’d ask you to ask yourself if the person you hope most to protect in this case is perhaps not her but you?’

Patsy was vaguely aware Smithy was offering her a prompt, but she’d hardly heard the majority of her session today, her head apparently anywhere but in the room with her therapist. She felt a bit guilty she wasn’t playing her part. After all, Smithy, and the Gateways clinic, had offered her a safe space when she hardly knew she needed one. Now she knew she needed one but she couldn’t take it. Mostly because she felt like she was back at the beginning, and couldn’t be bothered to make the effort and do that work again. Yes she’d reconnected with Delia and told her about her childhood, but… the rest of it?

‘Patience?’ The change in Smithy’s usually mellow Californian accent, while dragging out the full length of her first name very deliberately, shocked her back to the present.

‘Mhmm?’ She tried to make this sound as invested as possible, but she could feel she was blushing like a teenager at boarding school.

‘I asked you a question. Or rather I asked you to ask yourself a question.’

‘You did, yes,’ she agreed noncommittally.

‘Well?’

She shuffled awkwardly in her chair and fixed her eyes on her lap. ‘I’m not sure what to say.’

She was terrified the older woman was going to shout at her, but Smithy actually got quieter, and she wasn’t sure which was worse. ‘Don’t set us back almost seven years, Patsy, please.’

The plea was unexpected enough to make her look up. ‘Sorry?’

‘I know you feel like you’re starting again right now, but _we_ aren’t.’

‘You’re right. I’m sorry,’ she said, almost in a whisper.

Smithy shook her head, but was smiling kindly. ‘Save your apologies and work with me.’

She huffed out a sigh and nodded. ‘I’ll try.’ She sighed again, feeling stubbornly frustrated. ‘I _do_ want to protect Delia.’

‘From what?’

She pulled an exasperated face. ‘From the overwhelming feelings of… well, everything.’

‘But, as you’ve told me yourself, given the progress of her recovery so far, she’s likely going to remember those overwhelming feelings anyway.’

She couldn’t stop a grimace. ‘Yes – I guess –’

Smithy nodded apparently approvingly. ‘So then, as _she_ has told you herself, wouldn’t it be nice for you to support her through that process? Especially if her mother’s as awful as you’ve suggested.’

Her nostrils flared at the reference to Enid, but she just shrugged and mumbled, ‘I suppose so, but…’

‘But what?’

Smithy’s gaze was gentle but disconcerting, and she looked at her lap again, hoping it’d make speaking up a bit easier. ‘But what if she doesn’t feel the way she did?’ she managed in a rush.

‘There we go.’

The reply stung, and she lifted her head to rage, but found her voice still sounded timid. ‘What exactly does that mean?’

‘It means we’ve got to the heart of the issue.’

‘Which is?’

She heard her therapist tut. ‘I’m not being flippant, Patsy, I promise. The opposite. But what you just said is the answer to my question earlier, which (in the kindest way possible) I don’t think you registered properly. You’re trying to protect yourself as much as Delia.’

‘I am?’

She watched as Smithy nodded, and then sighed, shaking her head. ‘Will you forgive me breaking boundaries for a moment?’

She nodded in return, although she was surprised. ‘Of course.’

‘Take it from a butch of the generation above you. As queer women we spend so long wondering if anyone will reciprocate our feelings, even in societies with all the possibility of marriage equality and smartphones,’ Smithy started, and Patsy giggled in spite of herself as the older woman went on. ‘That was what was scary when you met Delia at university, correct? At least that’s what you brought to our sessions for the whole of your first year on the course.’

Her giggle turned into a proper laugh now. ‘I suppose it was, yes.’

Her therapist smiled, apparently pleased by the change in her emotional state. ‘Well, you’re likely feeling all those things again. It’s not just Delia who has to adjust after significant trauma –’

She put up a hand to cut her off. ‘It’s hardly comparable.’

Smithy returned to tutting. ‘Would you contemplate saying that to any of your patients’ partners, Patsy?’

She stared back in horror. ‘Never!’

‘Thought not,’ Smithy replied evenly, then continued, ‘Now, as _I_ was saying, you’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster just as much as she has, and you seem to be adding fear of rejection to the pile as well. Despite being in an established and secure relationship before the accident –’

She couldn’t stop interrupting again. ‘But this isn’t before – and traumatic brain injury has been shown to alter sexual orientation.’

She winced as Smithy raised a brow at the medical phrasing, but the therapist just asked, ‘Has Delia’s personality changed considerably in other ways?’

She now couldn’t hold back a grin. ‘Absolutely not.’

The raised brow got a bit higher. ‘In that case, don’t you owe it to your relationship, in any form, to be positive about the future instead of panicking?’

She laughed sheepishly. ‘You know me too well.’

Smithy shook her head yet again. ‘You know yourself well – sometimes you just need reminding of that,’ she said, and it almost looked like she winked. ‘So I’m going to do something I haven’t for a very long while, and set you homework this week. After you leave here today, on your journey home, write a letter to Delia telling her who you were and are to each other, and how you feel. Not to send. Just to have. All right?’

‘All right,’ she replied, ‘I guess that’ll let me rehearse the conversation if we do ever have it.’

‘Exactly,’ Smithy said, grinning, ‘and you can either bring it to your next session or not, whichever feels better. Speaking of, that’s our time up for today. Sorry if I pushed you a bit.’

She grinned back and rolled her eyes as she stood up, shrugging her coat on and grabbing her hat, scarf and gloves from where they’d been hidden behind her on her seat. ‘You aren’t sorry in the least – but I’d expect nothing less. May I call and schedule the next one when I have my new rota?’

‘Of course. Now go and write that letter.’ 

Leaving Smithy’s office, she skipped down the corridor to the waiting room, somehow feeling happier even at the thought of writing the letter. The prospect of an actual conversation was still enough to make her nauseous, but she was glad she’d started to work through her anxiety. As she walked past the front desk and out the door, once her gloves were on, she immediately turned her phone on again to set a reminder so she _would_ call about another session. Before she could open the app, however, a notification popped up to say she had a text.

From Delia.

Fuck.

**Morning Pats. Hope therapy went okay? I was thinking of you.**

The tone was so genuine it made her initial anxiety evaporate and she grinned as she typed back:

_You’re lovely. Thank you, Deels._

Three dots appeared instantly, and she decided she was too distracted to head home right away, so she put her phone in her coat pocket and took a quick walk towards the Chelsea Embankment Gardens. There she sat on the most secluded bench, not quite feeling stable enough to risk even a glimpse of the Thames as they talked in a manner at once so close and so far from how they had before. Pulling her phone out again, she saw there were three more messages.

**It’s okay.**

**I didn’t want to text before your session in case you needed space.**

**Do you need space NOW? Gosh, that was insensitive, I should’ve thought about it being hard work and you probably not wanting to talk for a bit afterwards as well.**

Her heart melted even more, making her grateful the late autumn chill gave an alibi for the redness of her cheeks, although she was more concerned about leaving a reply much longer. So she slid off her gloves for speed and tapped out:

_No, I’m okay. I mean, it WAS hard work, but it always is, and it’s always NICE to hear from you. I just took a while to respond because I was walking to a garden near the clinic and finding a bench to sit on._

Three dots popped up quickly, but she found she was nevertheless holding her breath. She wasn’t particularly surprised. In a metaphorical sense at least, she’d been holding it for the past five weeks – and all the more so in the last one. She was still acutely conscious of how close she’d come to slipping up every time they’d chatted; particularly yesterday.

She’d called Delia _adorable_ , for fuck’s sake.

She hadn’t been able to stop staring at the selfie whenever she’d had a moment, either.

Then Smithy had pushed things in her session and now she’d have to pour her heart out into a letter.

She groaned softly behind her scarf, finally exhaling, and refocused on the phone, realising there’d been two words waiting for quite a while.

**Keep warm.**

Her breath caught again. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Did Delia know?

She shook her head, tutting at her own ridiculousness, and just sent back:

_I will._

This simple reply was followed by a fairly lengthy stream of texts in return, and she had to read fast to keep up as each new one appeared.

**Good.**

**I’d hate to think of you not just being lonely, but cold too.**

**Are you wearing a scarf? I’d lend you one of mine if I could.**

**And I’m sorry your session was hard work. Would it help to talk about it? I’m not being nosy, I promise.**

She giggled at all four messages, then blushed, and decided it was safest (since she was feeling so conflicted) to respond only with something which was half a joke and half a compliment:

_Your dexterity’s so much better, Deels. That was speedy!_

**I don’t have much to do other than practise, I guess. Hehe.**

The jokey ending didn’t stop her crushing sense of guilt at the admission, and she said so:

_Gosh, Deels, that was thoughtless of me, I’m so sorry._

Three dots held her in suspense for a few seconds, so she was grateful that Delia went for separate texts again – and that the first three were shorter.

**No.**

**It’s fine.**

**You were being kind.**

**And I do need the time to rest, as much as I try and convince Mam otherwise.**

**I’m not ready to be busy yet.**

**Besides, this isn’t about me right now, don’t think I don’t know when you’re deflecting.**

Reading them all, she thought Smithy might be right – this really was proving an emotional rollercoaster. She smiled, then her heart ached, and the last one made her groan. But she was touched by Delia’s concern, and sent back:

_Am I that obvious?_

**Yes.**

**Even the barriers of technology and a traumatic brain injury aren’t enough to make me not notice.**

She laughed now, almost hearing the sarcasm in her favourite voice, and replied:

_Well, if you want to help that much, I’d appreciate some distraction._

She was nervous about ending the sentence there, but she needed to be vague, and Smithy had told her to be _positive_. Thankfully Delia seemed very happy with the request.

**Anything in particular in mind?**

Prior to the end of October, she might have read such a question as coy, but it was now early December and she didn’t want to get ahead of herself in the new context. She therefore stuck with facts:

_I was actually going to ask what you’ve been up to during the days since you’ve been home, but I won’t now, if it’s too much of a sore spot._

Three dots sprang up quickly and she got three texts as a result.

**No**

**It’s okay**

**Well, yesterday after you went back to work, Tad and I had a chat. I wanted to tell you about it anyway but I wasn’t ready when we chatted later and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel over text anyway. It’s quite important. So you might want to wait for FaceTime later, but you did say you find it easier writing sometimes, and I think I will too for this…**

The longest one put her heart in her mouth for a moment, and then she laughed, thinking Smithy would be rolling her eyes if she could read the exchange currently taking place. She laughed at herself, too, realising that she should’ve let Delia lead all along – it was the way things had happened the first time around, after all. But then she stopped herself jumping to conclusions too quickly, because it might not be what she thought it was, and just replied:

_You’re right. I do prefer it often. Go on, I’m here._

**Okay well**

**Ffyc, this is awkward.**

She giggled at the swear word, having longed to hear or see it, and been worried she might not get to again. Then she sent off some reassurance:

_Take your time, Deels – and a deep breath._

**Diolch, Pats.**

Her heart swelled at the use of her nickname (she didn’t think it would ever not sound special) but she didn’t say anything back, deciding to honour her full name and be patient. If what she _thought_ – no, _hoped_ – was happening actually _was_ , it’d be worth it. So she waited.

**Okay**

**Um**

**When we said goodbye, um, I looked at the selfie of us again**

**Because I had a bit more context for it after our chat.**

**And**

**Um**

**Sorry**

**Cachiad this is hard**

**It gave me feelings**

**No, I finally NOTICED the feelings I’ve been having since I found it**

**And was like, well, FUCK, frankly**

**So I needed to check in with someone but you were back at work and anyway that felt a bit awkward because**

**Because**

**So I texted Tad and he got worried and called me because I hadn’t thought to tell him I wasn’t hurt**

**And that chat was awkward too, more awkward than this one, but better than trying to talk to Mam because he was lovely and supportive and I think the best case scenario with her was that she might’ve fainted**

Then three dots disappeared and she couldn’t wait any longer so she was going to reply… but three more texts popped up.

**But anyway. He said I should probably talk to you, so, um, here goes, I guess**

**I’m gay**

**Is that okay with you?**

Receiving such a direct question after the adrenaline hit of catching up with the thread nearly made her drop her phone and, despite all her medical knowledge, she thought she might spontaneously combust. Her heart and lungs constricted and her breath got shallow as her mind blanked and she typed back in a rush:

_It’s fine_

_Um_

_I’m the same?_

Then she stared at the screen in horror.

I’m the same!?

I’m the _same_!?

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. How pathetic. Shit shit shit. Sure, it might’ve been meaningful at one point, but there was no guarantee Delia would appreciate the significance, and now it just seemed ridiculous. But before she could do anything about it, not that there was much _to_ do, she got another three texts in reply.

**Oh**

**Really?**

**Interesting**

She was unsure what the last one meant, so she calmed herself just enough to type back:

_Interesting?_

**Yes**

**Because**

**Well, um, you know before?**

She thought she did know, yes, but clarification felt essential right now. Her heart was thumping hard enough as it was. So she checked:

_Before your accident?_

**Yes.**

_Okay. Yes. Go on._

**Sorry I should’ve been more specific.**

Her heart clenched with sadness now:

_No no, you’re fine, I thought that’s what you meant, I just wanted to be sure._

**Okay.**

**Well… before… when you said we were a lot closer by second year, did you mean we were dating? Because last night I dreamt about holding your hand.**

She squealed, then felt tears starting at the corner of her eyes, but was too happy to care that she might be on the verge of breaking her rule about not crying in public. She wanted to answer in the affirmative, and save her favourite person (and herself!) any more anxiety, but all she could manage was:

_Oh, Deels, you did?_

**Yes. And I’d like to know if I did in real life, please, Pats.**

She was full-on sobbing now, and could hardly see her screen, but wiped her eyes to type:

_You did. And we were. Dating, that is._

Now she’d said it, it seemed so easy – or at least it did until she had to wait for what turned out to be a rather long time. But then Delia’s reply was filled with such relief that she forgot her own frustration.

**Oh thank God. I was so excited yesterday when I realised what I’ve been feeling but also terrified I’d be wrong about us and you’d hate me.**

She giggled through her tears and replied as quickly as she could:

_Oh gosh. No, I could never hate you. In fact, if it isn’t too early to say, because I think we should take it slowly as you recover – I loved you. And I’ve never stopped. Does that help?_

**Yes. Yes it does.**

**And we’ll see about slowly.**

She laughed aloud at last and typed:

_Incorrigible as ever, thank goodness. I wouldn’t have you any other way._

**Good because if a brain injury hasn’t changed me nothing will.**

**Sorry I really must stop making those sorts of jokes. It’s probably not healthy.**

She snorted and typed back:

_Well if it isn’t then there’s no hope for me – most of my humour is morbid._

**In that case I won’t worry about it and we can giggle inappropriately together.**

She grinned and sent:

_Perfect._

The single word was answered by the appearance of three dots for what felt like an absolute age, and she wondered what could be causing the delay until the eventual reply made total sense - in both length and sentiment.

**You are, yes. Putting up with all this stress because of me. I’d’ve understood if you didn’t stick around. And I will if you don’t now, because everything’s still so up in the air. Even though my heart says I have to come back to London. It’s where my life is, and where you are.**

She might’ve understood, and also felt her heart skip a little at the very first bit. She was nevertheless horrified by most of the rest of the message, and said so, as well as advising caution:

_Deels I’m not going anywhere. But you can’t come back if they don’t give you a clean bill of health._

The next text was just two short sentences.

**They will. I’ll MAKE them.**

She debated briefly how to respond within the new context of rebuilding their relationship, and then decided to be totally honest:

_I could kiss you when you say things like that._

Barely thirty seconds passed before a long reply popped up.

**And you told ME I was incorrigible because I didn’t want to take things slowly, haha. I’d let you, though, Pats. At least for now we’ve got texts and FaceTime. Speaking of, I want to see your face and hear your voice. Not to hurry you home, but...**

She teared up again as she read, and marvelled at how easy it felt to cry with happiness as opposed to sadness. No doubt Smithy would have something to say about that. But instead she just sent back:

_Yes, Deels, darling. Heading off now._

**Thank you, hehe. Oh and Pats?**

She had been focused on getting up, but she was intrigued, so typed back quickly:

_Yes?_

**Put your hair in plaits for me, please?**

She blushed, and giggled, then composed herself as best as she could in order to be coy:

_Oh so THAT was what sparked your dream off, was it?_

**Maybe.**

She giggled again and replied:

_Noted. All right, I’ll buzz you in about an hour, depending on the tube._

She thought there might be a frustrated response, so waited, but three dots only brought back a very sneaky question.

**Don’t they have wifi now?**

_It varies. And anyway, how do you know about that, when you weren’t sure what FaceTime was, Deels?_

She immediately cursed answering with a question of her own, worried it would seem insensitive. But Delia was apparently too set on being obnoxious to mind.

**Google, Pats.**

**No, not really, things are just coming back. Not memories, exactly, but working knowledge of the world around me. I think it’s because I’ve had you to keep me connected to life… before.**

The second text threatened to make her tear up yet again (and also slightly anxious about the practical implications of such “working knowledge” for rediscovering things like Facebook), so instead of answering properly, she sent back a silly query:

_Does that mean you’ve found emojis again?_

**Yes but I’ve been very restrained. Maybe my accident DID affect me, hahaha.**

She covered her mouth with her scarf to dampen the loud laugh escaping as she read and then replied:

_Send me as many as you like while I’m underground. That should keep you occupied._

**Oi!**

She giggled, knowing the short burst of outrage was justified, but not regretting the gentle poke in the least. It was fun being able to argue playfully again, so she just said:

_Do you want me to get home and FaceTime you or not?_

**Yes. Sorry sorry sorry I’ll shut up now. Don’t reply to this.**

She smiled at the lack of punctuation in the second sentence, and the command, and then started walking. While she made her way back to Poplar, navigating a tube and a bus, she switched off her data, deciding she’d rather arrive to an unknown amount of emojis than spoil the surprise by getting them in stages. Instead, she drafted an offline email:

From: Patsy Mount <[patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk](mailto:patience.mount@yahoo.co.uk)>

To: Smithy <[smithy@gatewaysclinic.org.uk](mailto:smithy@gatewaysclinic.org.uk)>

Subject: Update

Hi Smithy,

Thanks for our session today. It really helped and (dare I say it) I might even be looking forward to the next one. I just wanted to tell you I won’t be bringing the letter, though, because I had no need to write it. Delia knows. She worked it out herself. Well, sort of. I’ll tell you everything when I’m next in. But thank you.

Patsy

By the time she finished typing, the bus was drawing to a stop, so she dashed off. Then she sprinted home, wrestled her hair into plaits, and plonked on her bed for a FaceTime with her favourite person. She switched her data back on, and her phone buzzed with a string of texts featuring only yellow hearts. She knew it was just their new connection combined with Delia's favourite colour. It wasn't a memory, though it meant so much. But in that moment, however fleetingly, as she looked at the once familiar symbols, everything felt right with her world.

💛

💛💛

💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛


	4. Delia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia is feeling awkward about something, so Patsy reassures her via text on the way home from work. Then they have a FaceTime chat which is rudely interrupted by Delia's parents (sort of, no spoilers!).
> 
> Featuring supportive Huw and not-so supportive Enid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this chapter is a bit more 'M' than the previous ones, though not majorly. Also there's a hint of homophobia towards the end, but that is squashed.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kindness and encouragement on my last chapter, both about the story and my anxiety. It really helped. I'm also pleased that the early reveal of their relationship (with Delia asking even though she hasn't remembered yet) has gone over well. I wanted this fic to be less about whether they'd get together or not and more about Patsy supporting her recovery, and it made sense to me that in a modern context she could do that in the role of girlfriend/partner. Despite what Mrs Busby might believe. So thank you!

_Deels, are you okay? You’ve been a bit quiet today._

Feeling her phone vibrate, Delia turned it over, blushing as she read the message. Then she wriggled until her full body was under her duvet, thinking as she did so that it was one of the few remaining benefits of her mother’s insistence that she still spend the majority of her days in bed. Even nearly six weeks after her accident, and five seizure-free. If she pretended to be asleep around the times she was checked on, she could be fairly sure of privacy. Of course there was no certainty about when exactly she would be barged in on, so it wasn’t _strictly_ privacy, but (ironically) it was the closest she’d ever really known. And when she hid completely under her covers, like now, it was almost enough.

Almost.

Except she was still anxious – both about replying to the text and the vaguest possibility that someone else might read it.

But her mother had only just been in, and she did owe Patsy a response, because aside from their now habitual hellos in the morning and at break times, she had indeed been quieter than usual. And her _girlfriend_ deserved better; even if that new (well, old, actually) title was what was causing half the trouble today. She still couldn’t really believe she’d been brave enough to ask the question so soon after her conversation with her Tad, but then Patsy had asked what she’d been up to as a distraction and it’d just sort of…come out. And they’d both been much happier and more open since then, even though nothing had tangibly changed, because they were still just texting and FaceTiming whenever they could. That was lovely. So lovely. And she didn’t want to risk ruining it because her brain was being silly.

So she took a deep breath, tapped on the notification, and typed out a reply:

**Yes, sorry, I’m fine. Are you home?**

She added the question purely to make conversation, because she knew full well what the answer would be. Her primary occupation (since she’d been able to focus on anything more complex than her name, age and where she lived) had been Patsy’s shift pattern. Even before she’d been able to write to make contact again. And it had become _infinitely_ more important over the past week. But she needed to deflect a little, and postpone the stream of queries likely inevitable once she confessed the reason for her silence.

And it worked.

_No, just had handover, so leaving in 10. But if you’d like to text now I can get the bus back so we don’t have to wait for reliable wifi?_

She paused for a second, mulling over her options, then said:

**You’re so thoughtful. That’d be nice.**

She knew she was still delaying things by being a bit short, and Patsy would clock on pretty soon, but she wasn’t quite ready to share. Thankfully the older woman had to put things on pause for a while herself, as she left the hospital and walked to the bus.

_Perfect. Chat in a jiffy._

She smiled at the particularly English phrase, and answered with a Welsh one of her own:

**Diolch, Pats.**

_Croeso, Deels._

Reading the almost immediate reply, her smile became a grin, and she decided she was pretty sure she’d never get over the surprise that Patsy seemed to know so much of her first language. In fact it felt like a very familiar feeling, that surprise, so perhaps it was something from before instead of just after her accident. Either way, it gave her a warm fuzzy sensation, and that tided her over for the time it took another text to arrive.

_Right, on the bus, Busby. Now, I told you last week, it’s ALWAYS nice to hear from you._

She chuckled and shot back:

**Charmer.**

She was still hedging, and she knew it. If the roles were reversed she’d be giving Patsy hell for such behaviour. But hypocrisy was less embarrassing than the truth, at least it felt it, and it bought her more time. She was also aware that, in all this seemingly superficial conversation, Patsy had likely left out the fact that, usually, she would travel home from work neither by bus nor tube but bike. And that made her heart ache, until the redhead’s reply made it flip with happiness.

_It’s true. I’ve missed you._

The two sentences were so sincere she could only respond in kind:

**I’ve missed you too.**

And then their shared honesty made her brave:

**Sorry I’ve not been very talkative. I, um, dreamt about us kissing last night.**

She hit send before she could back out and held her breath as three dots appeared. But they only stayed briefly, so she didn’t have to hold for long.

_Oh Deels._

Although the speed of the reply was comforting, she wished it was easier to read tone through text, and felt she had to ask what was intended:

**Oh Deels… Good or bad?**

Three dots sprang up and stuck around a little longer than usual, so she chewed at her lip compulsively. But then the message made her feel much better.

_Oh Deels I wish I could be there to help you process these dreams in person._

Still, she was surprised, and said so:

**You mean you understand it was weird? You aren’t cross?**

She couldn’t help chewing her lip again, but thankfully Patsy’s typing speed was much quicker than hers (even if it did feel an age sometimes regardless of how long a text actually took). And she also split her reply into multiple messages, which was very reassuring.

_Why would I be cross?_

_Of course it’s going to be weird dreaming about things like that, because you don’t know if it’s real or not. Even if they felt nice._

_In fact probably ESPECIALLY if they felt nice._

She giggled at the accuracy of the third text, but still felt shy, so tried to delay a bit more:

**That’s the thing, this did feel nice, but almost TOO nice.**

_Oh?_

The single word, and its framing as a question, felt rather unsatisfactory as a response. She wasn’t even sure her girlfriend knew what she meant. Then, though, three dots popped up for a bit, followed eventually by a second text.

_No-one can see my phone, Deels, I’m texting under my coat. So you can tell me anything you need to, sweetheart, if it’s more comfortable than talking._

The message made her eyes smart, it was so kind. But it also made her brave enough to ask a question of her own: 

**Promise?**

The string of texts she got as an answer more than compensated for her earlier disappointment.

_I promise._

_I want us to be each other’s safe spaces in every way. Like before._

_I know it’ll take a while to get back there. Even if we’ve decided we’re already a couple again._

_But I meant it when I said “I’m here to help with whatever happens next”. No questions. And no judgement. All right?_

She found herself nodding reflexively as she typed back:

**All right.**

Then she paused, grounding herself by breathing in and out in the way that was becoming almost instinctive, before continuing the conversation:

**Well**

**Um**

**My pyjamas were damp when I woke up.**

She turned her phone over, still too tense about…everything…to wait while looking at the screen. But she should’ve known better by now than to worry, because the buzz of a response arrived quickly, and it was kind.

_Oh darling._

She smiled, feeling a little safer. Then another text popped up, with a question this time, and she was grateful for the implicit offer of guidance.

_Is this the first time it’s happened that you can remember?_

**Yes.**

She wanted to say more, but didn’t know how, and hoped the full-stop would signal that she still needed help. Thankfully Patsy seemed to understand.

_Okay sweetheart. Well, it’s perfectly natural, but it’s ALSO perfectly natural that it’s made you feel awkward._

Now she absolutely _needed_ to reply, so she did:

**Not just awkward, I’m MORTIFIED. Thank God I can get to the loo by myself again, otherwise Mam would’ve seen.**

She wondered if this was too much, too far, but Patsy had said she wanted them to be able to share everything, and the older woman also understood how precious privacy could be. And she was reassured by her response.

_Oh gosh, of course._

But it still felt like her girlfriend wasn’t quite getting the enormity of this new experience, so she went on, splitting her texts to make honesty easier:

**But even without her I’m embarrassed. I mean, I know it happens, I know really it’s natural, but it’s weird**

**Because yes it was nice but, when you think about it, I’ve only known you a couple of weeks, and it seems a bit forward of my body to be feeling that way after such a short time. Never mind for me to be telling you about it**

**Oh my God why I am I telling you about it!?**

As she sent the third message she could sense herself beginning to panic, so she let go of her phone and tried to breathe as she waited again. Thankfully, though, Patsy seemed finally to comprehend the full extent of her confusion – because she got a rapid string of replies.

_Okay_

_Okay_

_Okay_

_Deels_

_Take a deep breath for me, and tell me when you have?_

She did, then chuckled, and texted back:

**Done. Diolch.**

_Good. Croeso._

She giggled again, which gave her the courage to keep her phone facing upwards when the lingering appearance of three dots suggested a longer message was being typed. And then its contents made her grin.

_This is why I wanted to take things slowly, to try and save you some of this overwhelm, but regardless I know we have no control over your dreams or your memories. And you’re right on one level – you’ve only known me a fortnight or so. But your BODY remembers more than that, so the split between those two might suck, but it makes sense._

She was comforted by the reasonable explanation along with the acknowledgement of her anxiety, and the combination made her brave enough to ask for clarification:

**So we HAVE kissed before? Sorry if that’s a silly question.**

_There are no silly questions. But yes we have. A fair bit, actually._

She giggled a third time, with a mixture of relief and excitement. Then she blushed. Because there was something else she really wanted to ask and she probably ought to do it now because otherwise she might not be brave enough until they were together in person and then it would be too awkward and anyway that would still leave weeks of anxiety. So, breathing deeply again to calm her hurried thoughts, she tapped out three texts, sending the first two:

**And**

**Um**

**Have we had sex yet?**

She deleted and retyped the last one three times, but decided Patsy would probably be more bothered by being left hanging with an ‘um’, so bit her lip and sent it.

It turned out she needn’t’ve worried, since hardly a few seconds passed before a reply popped up…

_No, actually._

…followed by two more.

_I wasn’t ready._

_Sorry._

The second surprised her a great deal, but the third did at least give her an easy way to answer:

**What are you always saying to me about unnecessary apologies, Mount?**

Apparently the question was enough to encourage a speedy response.

_I know, Busby, but…_

**No buts.**

She sent the short statement by itself, hoping it would bring an end to her cariad’s awkwardness, but then went on to explain further why she didn’t mind at all:

**Selfishly, I’m pleased. If it’s been this weird DREAMING about a kiss, then the actual memories’ll be INTENSE. Lovely, I’ve no doubt, but intense. And that’s just KISSING, so… Also this way we’ll both be experiencing it together for the first time regardless of my injury and that feels special. Not that I’d mind otherwise, but… well. Hopefully this ramble makes sense.**

_It does._

After the effort of typing out such a long paragraph, the two short words made her laugh, and she was glad. But she was also intrigued to discover how much she could get out of their frank discussion. So she took a risk and responded:

**Good. Although I must admit I’ve been wondering if that was the “fun” we had in the supply cupboard…**

Three dots stuck around for a while now, but she was content to wait, and considered her _patience_ rewarded by the three texts she eventually got back.

_Oh my God Deels._

_No._

_The GERMS._

She giggled, typing out 😷😷😷, but then deleted them, anxious not to be hurtful when she was feeling sensitive herself. Instead she sent:

 **Fair enough. No skiving because I’d seduced you then?** 😉

Three dots appeared, so she was hopeful she hadn’t gone too far, but then disappeared and reappeared several times. She did at last get a reply, though.

_No! (Nearly dropped my phone at that, thanks, love.) Although you did occasionally kiss me in the corner of the cupboard._

She smirked, thrilled (and more than a little relieved) that her cheeky question had gone over okay, before deciding she was brave enough to keep going:

**Oh I did?**

_Mhmm…_

The trailed off ending intrigued her, so she went even further:

**Are you blushing, Pats, cariad?**

_NO._

She giggled now:

 **Photographic evidence or I won’t believe you** 😛 **  
**

_I’m not taking a selfie on the bus, Deels._

She thought she could sense derision, so asked:

**Are you a selfie snob?**

_No, I’m just shy._

The last text took her by surprise and she felt bad:

**Sorry, am I taking things too far?**

_No, you’re fine, it’s fun. I just think… both of us aren’t quite used to this yet, and we might want to go back a bit._

She puffed out a relieved sigh that they were okay, but was still a bit confused, so sent back:

**How?**

_By me doing what I should’ve done a week ago and asking you on a date._

The reply was so unexpected that _she_ nearly dropped her phone – not that it would’ve mattered since she was surrounded by soft material – but she covered by sending back:

😂😂😂

Then she felt guilty again for being a bit flippant and typed out an explanation:

**Sorry, I guess I’m just not sure what’d be different to make it a date, because FaceTime is our only option, and we’ve been doing that whenever we can around your shifts anyway.**

She waited, hoping she’d softened her earlier reaction enough, and was glad when her girlfriend seemed coy rather than upset.

_That may be so, but we haven’t FaceTimed while we were each nursing a brew, have we?_

**No, I suppose we haven’t. And I don’t think YOU’VE ever comfortably used the word “brew”, cariad.**

She giggled as she hit send, wondering what she’d get back, then laughed aloud as she read the reply – extremely glad of her duvet’s muffling effect.

 _I’m wounded_ 😉 _  
_

Before she could communicate her shock at the unprompted use of an emoji, however, a second text popped up.

_Now, is Huw home?_

**Yes, he got in about two hours ago. It’s nearly eight. Why?**

It seemed a very strange thing to ask at this point, but she trusted Patsy, so she waited.

_Oh gosh, so it is. Well, do you think he’d be happy to help you in the kitchen, love?_

Realisation flooded her mind and she smiled as she sent:

**I imagine so, yes. You ARE a dark horse.**

All she got as an answer at first was…

😳

…but it was swiftly followed by a return to practicality.

_I just want to make sure you’re safe in every way. In that case, then, Busby, might you like to make yourself some tea while I make my way off this bus? I’ll buzz you on FaceTime as soon as I’ve made my own._

She grinned at the thought that’d gone into even the wording of the text, and shot back:

**That sounds perfect, like you. Okay, Mount, I’ll text Tad – catch you in a bit.**

She’d nearly sent “mewn cachiad” instead of “in a bit”, but she didn’t want to risk Patsy dropping her phone again, because it was so precious to both of them. So she just tapped out a question, worded much more politely, to her father:

**Tad, are you free to help me in the kitchen, please?**

As she waited patiently for his reply, she was more focused on what she could feel, because she expected her phone to buzz. She was therefore extremely surprised to hear the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by a tap on her half-closed door. ‘Helo, Tad,’ she called quietly, giggling while she shuffled up her bed into a sitting position.

‘Helo, Delia bach,’ he answered sheepishly as he popped his head around the door. ‘May I come in?’

She nodded, noting that they were both using English – at least most of the time. It seemed to be becoming a habit, she thought with another giggle as she spoke up again. ‘Thank you for knocking.’

He shook his head, smiling. ‘No need to thank me, Delia, you’re an adult and entitled to privacy,’ he said sincerely, even as he stooped to ruffle her hair playfully, eyes twinkling. ‘Now, bach, teatime, I take it?’

She giggled a third time and shoved him away gently. ‘ _Hey_ ,’ she protested. ‘Yes please, though, if you don’t mind supervising. Patsy suggested we have a proper date, and the only way we can really do that in the circumstances is if we both have tea while we chat.’

He nodded in apparent approval, and her heart felt the lightness of him knowing almost as strongly as it had when she’d told him last week, and it only grew as he replied verbally. ‘I’m glad she’s keeping up your traditions even with the distance.’

She was intrigued by the snippet of new information. ‘Oh, did we do that a lot before, then?’

He nodded again, more tentatively this time, and then admitted, ‘I’m not sure how much I should tell you, these feel like special things to share between yourselves.’

She was surprised now, but grinned, and spoke Welsh in her sincerity. ‘Diolch, Tad. Yn araf, as Patsy keeps reminding me.’

He returned her smile, but glanced at the door. ‘Careful, bach, that almost counts as a full sentence, and you know what your Mam’s ears are like.’ Their gazes met again as she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. ‘She’s a wise one, though, that Patsy. You don’t want to rush this – any of it. Not that I’m judging you for asking her about your relationship. It must be awful, knowing but not knowing and not knowing but knowing, so I’m glad you’ve got her with you in that way for the rest of your recovery.’

She watched his cheeks grow red as he added all that, feeling her own face flush and her eyes water slightly. ‘Really?’ she clarified, her voice thick.

‘Really,’ he repeated, stretching to squeeze her hand. Then, looking thoughtful and maintaining their grasp, he posed his own question. ‘By the way, do you want to tell your Mam, or would you rather I did? Only in case it comes up.’

She paused before replying, thinking it over. ‘I’d rather you mention it, actually, I think. Is that wimpy?’ she asked, hiding her nerves and a laugh behind her hand again.

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘It makes sense, and I’m very happy to be a buffer.’ Then, straightening up, he used the movement to tug her gently, apparently suggesting their talk was over for the night. ‘Come on, you, you need some sustenance. Slippers on and we’ll see about that brew.’

She grumbled petulantly at this condition. ‘The under-floor heating’s on. Besides, I walk better barefoot.’

She expected him to argue, but he simply tapped his nose. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t,’ he promised, winking, ‘but you’d better not keep _Patience_ waiting.’

She covered her mouth a third time, then realised she needed both hands for support as she got to standing, so bit her lip instead to stop the laugh threatening to spill out. ‘I definitely won’t tell _Pats_ you said _that_.’

After they’d both composed themselves, they kept silent, creeping downstairs and along the corridor to the kitchen, glad they had the cover of the blaring TV. Then she boiled the kettle (now kept filled out of habit, but not so much to make it too heavy), and fetched her mug, while he watched her movements as well as the door. ‘Shall I pour, bach?’ he asked once she’d plonked a teabag triumphantly in its place, simultaneously too physically tired (despite spending so much time in bed) and too mentally eager to talk to her girlfriend to steep and strain a whole pot.

‘Yes please,’ she replied, awkward and frustrated at having to agree. ‘Why is it so _hard_!?’ she went on, the question the only way she could articulate the fact that she suddenly felt like a clumsy toddler and utterly inept, no, inadequate, for the date she was about to have, however loosely it’d been defined.

She heard him sigh behind her as he stepped forward to help. ‘Sori, cariad.’

Then he placed a calming hand on her shoulder, and she shot him a weak smile, breaking their bodily contact as she walked to the fridge to grab the milk she’d forgotten. They both knew she needed focus for this task, since the glass bottles had no lid once the foil topper was removed, and she dreaded slopping any while she stepped. Not to mention when she tipped it to pour its contents into the tea on the counter awaiting her return. So they went quiet again, and remained so until they’d retraced their route upstairs to her room, him holding the mug on the proviso that she had bare feet, but could help by opening her door. Once he’d deposited her drink on her desk, he left quickly, and she propped her phone up against a pile of books she guessed must’ve been left there on her last visit home. She really ought to have put them away, or taken them back to London, before… but, as she’d hardly noticed them since she’d been a more permanent resident again, she supposed it didn’t matter much now. And they were proving a handy stand, so…

Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of a FaceTime call, and in her shock she nearly sent her precious (and so carefully prepared) tea flying. But she caught herself quickly enough to avoid the accident (this one, at least), and giggled slightly hysterically with an almost morbid relief that her reflexes had apparently improved at last. Then she answered, and the sight of her favourite fishhook smile made her instantly relax. ‘Helo, Pats, cariad. You’re in your pyjamas too!’

‘I am, yes. Hello, Deels, darling,’ came the cheery reply, words and image jumping as the connection tried to settle. They waited, not minding the chance to grin at each other in silence one bit, and then Patsy (apparently not living up to her full name tonight) started speaking again. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said immediately, before deflecting from the eagerness of her response by asking a question. ‘So how was your shift?’

The blue eyes opposite her own sparkled as her sweetheart’s grin got wider. ‘Long, but lovely; I delivered twins.’

She could feel herself flushing in pride. ‘Twins!? Gosh, how wonderful!’

The redhead nodded, blushing too. ‘It was, rather, eventually. I didn’t want to tell you over text, partly because we had… other things… to talk about, but also because it was a bit touch-and-go. They’re very premature, and will both be in Special Care for a while.’

She blinked back tears at the image appearing in her mind, too overwhelmed with emotion to be embarrassed by the euphemism earlier in her girlfriend’s sentence, and just said, ‘Da iawn, Pats.’

Patsy looked awkward at the praise, but grinned after a moment, and replied, ‘Diolch, Deels.’

Then they both got quiet again, so took a sip of their tea, and smiled. In the gap between talking, though, sounds of another conversation drifted up the stairs and through her open bedroom door.

‘Iesu mawr, Huw Busby –’

‘Speak English, Enid, I’ve told you time and again you need to get used to using it first while Delia recovers. We don’t want her getting any more muddled than she already is, and it’s important she doesn’t lose her second language. Welsh can wait.’ 

There was a pause as Enid scrambled for something to say. Delia shook herself briefly and whispered, ‘Did you hear that?’

Patsy waggled her head from side-to-side. ‘Only just, but yes.’

She nodded. ‘He’s not entirely wrong – I do get muddled. But I like speaking Welsh, especially with him and you. I just don’t like it with _her_ , because he’s right. She wants me to forget English. It’d give her more power over me if I only had one option.’ Her girlfriend opened her mouth to respond, but she raised a hand to stop her, because her mother was speaking again and she wanted them both to listen.

‘Fine, Huw. But why in heaven’s name did you let her have tea this _late_!? It’s a _diuretic_. She’ll be needing the loo all night, and might slip if she gets up in the dark without me to help.’

Waiting for her father’s reply, she bit her lip, through anxiety but also to stop herself giggling at the sight of Patsy’s steadily more horrified face, and kept her hand up in order to have something to focus on.

‘It’s only just gone eight, Enid. She’ll use the loo before she goes to sleep, as we all will, but she’s perfectly capable of getting there on her own if she needs to. You know she’s made enough physical progress for that. But regardless, she’s twenty-four, and can have a drink whenever she chooses.’

She smiled, and watched Patsy visibly relax too, but then her mother scoffed, and they both stiffened again as she spoke. ‘I think I need to have a word with her about risk and time management.’

They both held their breath, wondering if they would shortly hear her stomping upstairs, but Huw interrupted before she could move. ‘Not now you don’t, she’s busy.’

Enid sounded incredulous. ‘Busy!? With _what_!?’

Now Patsy looked petrified, but she calmed things by whispering, ‘It’s okay, I asked Tad to tell her.’

And he did. ‘She’s FaceTiming with Patsy.’

They waited, both grinning now, intrigued instead of nervous.

They half expected a shriek, but Enid just sounded suspicious. ‘Why?’

‘They’re having a date.’ Huw seemed to be keeping things simple.

The shriek still didn’t appear, although Enid’s voice did get louder. ‘I told you both not to tell her.’

‘I didn’t,’ Huw explained calmly, ‘and neither did Patsy. Delia worked it out herself. She’s astute, our daughter, and a TBI hasn’t changed that. The memories haven’t come yet, but they will, and it’s easier this way.’

Enid was quiet for a while, and they waited again, their smiles slightly less optimistic as the seconds passed. ‘Bloody London and its corrupting influences,’ she said eventually, with a sniff, and they both groaned at the confirmation that nothing had changed.

Not yet, at least.

But it seemed Huw had an answer for everything tonight. ‘You know that’s not true, and you also know that no-one chooses who they fall in love with. Else you’d never’ve married me.’

Their eyes widened at his words, and then their mouths fell open as they heard Enid laugh delightedly at the quip. ‘Oh my God,’ Delia breathed, ‘I don’t think I can listen to any more of this. I almost don’t notice when she’s awful or they argue, now, it’s so routine. But I can’t cope with the opposite, especially as I’m unconvinced her understanding will stick.’

Patsy nodded in apparent comprehension. ‘Well, I know you can’t really shut your door, but you _can_ at least pull it to. And before you get up, Deels, do you have headphones?’

She thought for a bit, then nodded too. ‘I think there’s a pair in my bedside drawer.’

‘Okay. Great. You could use them for the rest of our chat.’

She got up, grinning. ‘You have such good ideas. Like this date,’ she added, over her shoulder, while closing the door just a little.

Her girlfriend giggled. ‘I’m not sure I’ve delivered on my promise. I didn’t expect your parents to tag along.’

Having found her headphones, she sat down and got herself settled, taking a sip of tea and smirking. ‘Neither did I.’

‘It’s okay,’ Patsy insisted, ‘and I’m almost glad I heard. I’m here, and if things get tough, I’ll take time off and be on a train the moment you need me, all right?’

‘All right,’ she agreed, before deflecting, ‘but for now can we just have a date?’

‘Of course, sweetheart,’ Patsy said, grinning as she sat more upright in her desk chair. ‘So, I’ve told you about my shift – do you have any news?’

She giggled, blushing, and shook her head. ‘No, you fool. What do you think?’

Her answer arrived in the form of a wink, and an awkward laugh. ‘It seems I’m still terrible at making small talk.’

She nodded, smiling. ‘Awful. But it’s okay, because I have a question. Probably a “few dates down the line” question, but I think we’re technically past that, don’t you?’

Patsy nodded and leant forward expectantly. ‘I’m intrigued.’

She giggled as the frame shifted on her screen and leant forward too, so their position was mirrored. ‘What’s your middle name? I know I know already, really, but I don’t, and I’d like to.’

She got another nod in understanding. ‘Elizabeth. After Mum.’

She shot her girlfriend a grateful smile. ‘That makes sense, and what a lovely connection you still have with her.’

Patsy’s cheeks turned pink. ‘I suppose it is, yes,’ she mumbled, then shook herself, adding, ‘So what’s yours?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You know it.’

She watched as the redhead hummed, her lips quirking into a grin. ‘I do, yes, but I still want you to tell me.’

She groaned theatrically. ‘Fine. Carys, after my Mam-gu. But oh my God you sound like a nurse.’

Her girlfriend barked out a laugh. ‘Do I? You know, you said something along those lines at the hospital.’

It was now her turn to be intrigued. ‘In the same obnoxious tone?’

The redhead shook her head, smiling, but her eyes were sad. ‘No, in a very careful but muddled one.’

She felt herself blush bright red. ‘I’m sorry.’

She got another headshake. ‘Uh-uh. Don’t be. You didn’t know then, and you were doing your best.’

She smiled at the compassion in the response. ‘I guess I was. What made me say it?’

Patsy seemed startled by the question. ‘Oh, um, I was worried that you still had dirt from the road under your fingernails and suggested you ask someone to wash it away when you next had a bed bath.’

The level of thoughtfulness in the second reply outdid the first, and filled her with all sorts of feelings she couldn’t quite put across, so instead she summoned what she hoped was an appropriately seductive grin and quipped, ‘Trust you to notice my fingernails.’

She bit her lip as she watched the expression on her favourite face transform from startled to scandalised. ‘ _Delia!_ ’ Patsy remonstrated, pouting.

She giggled bashfully. ‘Sorry. I know. Slowly. And I don’t want _that_. Neither of us is ready. Not yet. I _would_ quite like a cwtch, though.’

Her girlfriend’s horror softened into wistfulness. ‘I’m the same,’ she said with a shy smile, and then paused, thinking. ‘Oh, I know, as we’re both in PJs already, why don’t we take a quick break to go to the loo and brush teeth, and then call again once we’re in bed? It’s not quite a cwtch, but that way we can fall asleep together? Sort of.’

She beamed at the suggestion. ‘As I said on text earlier, you _are_ a dark horse, Patience Elizabeth Mount.’

Patsy grinned back. ‘I aim to please, Delia Carys Busby.’

She dropped her lip playfully now. ‘Oi! I suppose I set myself up for that.’

The older woman hummed. ‘I’d say so. Right, give me a buzz when you’re settled?’

She nodded, pushing away the sense of toddler-like inadequacy rearing its head again now they were about to hang up, and just said, ‘Diolch, Pats.’

Her words brought the same lopsided smile with which Patsy had begun the conversation. ‘I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for, so I’ll just say in return: Diolch, Deels.’ Then Patsy winked, waving, and ended the call because it was her turn.

She stared at her home screen for a few seconds, smiling and trying to process everything she was feeling before attempting any more physical activity. Once she felt she was properly aware of her surroundings again, she downed the rest of her tea (long forgotten in the flow of their conversation), giggling as she realised both that she was in fact proving her mother right and didn’t give a fuck. The mug empty, she placed it carefully back on her desk, knowing washing it up could wait until the morning. Only when it was safe did _she_ feel steady enough to stand up, and pad to the bathroom prior to bounding back into bed. Such a movement was probably most unwise in the context of her injury, but Patsy had given her a reason to enjoy being snuggled under her duvet, and she wasn’t going to pass the rare motivation up. Before she got settled, though, she plugged her phone charger in. She didn’t want the battery to run out and cut off their mutual comfort. Lying down at last, she tapped out a text, deciding to check in rather than just calling:

 **Ready?** 😘 **  
**

Three dots appeared immediately.

_Ready._

Satisfied, she rang through, and was surprised to be greeted by her girlfriend blowing a kiss. ‘Hello to you too,’ she said, giggling.

Patsy laughed aloud. ‘I’m just saying thank you for a lovely date, Deels.’

She grinned, but replied, ‘I should be thanking _you_ , Pats.’

The redhead hummed. ‘Well, how’s about you plan the next one? I’m off on Saturday and Sunday, because Julienne’s insisting I take time in lieu.’

She grimaced. ‘That’s _terrible_.’

Her girlfriend looked confused. ‘Why? I thought you’d be pleased I’m being sensible.’

She nodded quickly in reassurance. ‘I am, but you can’t have a therapy session at the weekend.’

Patsy smiled in understanding. ‘Oh – I can, Smithy works Saturdays, and I’ve already booked in.’

She grinned again. ‘Well that’s okay then. I can go to sleep happy.’ She stopped, yawning. ‘Nos da, Pats.’

Her girlfriend blew another kiss, and pulled up her own duvet – but made sure they still had eye contact. ‘Nos da, Deels.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations of the Welsh words not so obvious or used regularly in fandom:
> 
> 'Mewn cachiad': literally 'in a shit', very quickly.  
> 'Yn araf': slowly
> 
> Thanks to Am_Shady for her efforts as beta and putting up with my panic, and to all of you for reading and commenting 😊


	5. Patsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sure how to summarise this one without spoiling...so...
> 
> Patsy has a therapy session with Smithy where they talk about ONE big thing, then her text conversation with Delia on the way home brings up ANOTHER big thing, and it ends up with them having a date structured around music.
> 
> All fluff with feelings. Just a note that the date bit probably shouldn't be read in a work environment, but only because it doesn't really make sense without the music videos and I've tried to make it interactive (i.e. you can click on the links as you read, like they do [although right-click so you don't lose the window with the chapter!]). That said, for any D/deaf people reading, I've put links to lyric videos in the notes at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Brexit anxiety is still huge in my life, and made this update take longer, but it's here now. Thank you all for waiting, and reading, and commenting so kindly 😊 (and especially thanks to Am_Shady for being a fab beta).
> 
> For those of you who've been tempted to click on/send emails to the addresses in previous chapters, hopefully this one gives you an outlet!

‘You said Delia asked, didn’t you? Or did I imagine the start of our session today?’

Patsy rolled her eyes at Smithy’s deliberate provocation, deciding, if she didn’t know better, she’d say her therapist was smirking. ‘She did, but that doesn’t mean I can just spring this on her.’

The older woman raised a brow – probably her more professional equivalent of an eye-roll, her younger client thought petulantly, as she spoke again. ‘Is it really “springing” if she’s already raised the subject herself?’

She pursed her lips, then changed tack and breathed in and out through her nose before replying honestly and asking for help. ‘I don’t think my brain is very receptive to rhetorical questions today.’

Smithy nodded. ‘Thank you for that input,’ she said, now definitely smiling kindly, ‘but it wasn’t rhetorical. I’m genuinely asking what you think.’

‘Oh,’ she answered reflexively, pausing for a while to marshal her thoughts. ‘No, I suppose not, then,’ she managed eventually.

Smithy smiled again. ‘All right, so we’ve sorted the logic, but what makes you _feel_ like it is?’

She puffed out another breath. ‘This is _big_ ,’ she started, ‘and I don’t want her to get stressed out. Or _grossed_ out,’ she went on quickly before caution could stop her from speaking.

Her therapist hummed. ‘If I’m recalling my notes correctly, that was the exact phrase you used in relation to her response when you told her about your mother and Grace. Both times.’

She choked back a laugh. ‘It was, yes.’

Smithy nodded, apparently content to tease this topic out as gradually as was needed. ‘And did she? Get either stressed or grossed out?’

She now couldn’t control her urge to laugh. ‘No. Not in the slightest.’ She took a deep breath so she could speak better. ‘But this is different.’

Smithy’s expression grew curious – whether through design or genuine intrigue, she couldn’t tell. ‘Why?’

‘Because it affects her.’

Her therapist returned to humming. ‘Doesn’t _anything_ that affects _you_ affect _her_?’

She giggled again at the very careful emphases in the question, and nodded. ‘Yes, but not like this.’

Smithy continued with questions, apparently not letting her give up on this, giggles or no giggles. ‘So is it not a natural follow-on from revealing, and then restarting, your relationship? Especially as she really already knows, in some form at least?’

She huffed, but nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose so.’

Smithy nodded too. ‘And did she react badly when you told her about _this_ the first time?’

She shook her head now. ‘I think she was relieved I could describe how I was feeling.’

Her therapist hummed, and flashed a quick grin, their agreed sign that she was getting there on days articulation took a while. ‘As were _you_ , I think, when I originally signposted you towards the AVEN website after you’d brought your awkwardness about this to sessions often enough for me to need to do some research.’

She nodded again, chuckling, ‘I was just so confused – and I know labels aren’t everything, but this one really helped.’

‘It did, didn’t it,’ Smithy repeated, probably attempting to offer reassurance before expecting a verbal answer to her next question, which made Patsy nauseous even though she knew it was coming. In most other circumstances, the word would just roll off her tongue, it was still such a welcome addition to her vocabulary. But she wasn’t _in_ most other circumstances right now, and she had to fight to maintain concentration as the question was posed at last. ‘And what was, or is, that label?’

‘Demisexuality,’ she squeaked.

Smithy smiled. ‘Take a breath, Patsy, and a moment. I’m aware we’ve been going over old ground a lot recently, and that’s scary, but this space is safe.’

She grinned in spite of herself, and did as asked. ‘Thank you,’ she said in a shaky voice, ‘although I’m not sure why I’m struggling so much when we’ve been here before.’

Her therapist tutted. ‘Did my advice from the vantage point of a previous generation not quite get through last week? Coming outs – of all kinds – are always scary, no matter how many times we confront them. May I speak plainly?’

She nodded. ‘Please.’

‘We still feel the fear, we just get better at telling it to fuck off.’ Smithy paused, apparently allowing time for laughter, before getting back to her proper role. ‘Now, are you ready to keep going?’

She nodded again. ‘I think so.’

‘Well then, what does being demisexual mean to you?’

She thought, and chose her words carefully. ‘It means… I only experience sexual attraction once I’ve established an emotional bond with someone.’ She stopped, shifting awkwardly in her seat, but then pushed herself to add another point. ‘And, personally, I also need properly secure privacy in order to be comfortable enough to express that attraction.’

Smithy looked almost as though she wanted to hug her, but just said, ‘That seems a perfectly reasonable way to phrase it to Delia.’

She felt herself flush. ‘You mean you want me to do it _today_!?’ she asked, horrified.

Her therapist shook her head quickly. ‘No, no, I’m not putting a timeline on it. I’m just reminding you to use your words. Although you could always see how your date goes.’

She now knew she’d turned pale. ‘Oh God, yes, I almost forgot. Delia wouldn’t tell me what she’s planned.’

Smithy merely smiled. ‘She’s just as much of a safe space as your sessions here, I’m sure she won’t go too wild.’

She grimaced, but giggled. ‘I sure as hell hope not – but if she does, could we debrief next time?’

‘Of course. And you can always email between now and then. But you’d best be off, and not just because you like to be punctual. I won’t push you to go over time for once,’ the therapist said with a sparkle in her eyes.

Her grimace became a grin at the joke. ‘Thank you,’ she said primly, standing up. ‘You’re very kind, I’m sure.’

With that gentle dig, she scarpered, thinking it was sensible to put her coat and things on in the waiting room after behaving like a cheeky teenager. But, given that that was precisely how she felt, instead of wallowing in guilt when she eventually made her way out of the clinic, she practised some self-compassion. Or at least tried to – and, when that proved too difficult, she focused on her breath as she walked to the bus. Matching her stride to each inhale and exhale.

Only once she’d boarded did she dare turn on her phone again, and tapped out a text before any could come through:

_On first bus on way home, then a tube and bus again, and I’ll be all set for our date in just over an hour._

**Good.**

The reply popped up almost immediately, but then three dots appeared, so she waited.

**I’ve learnt my lesson from after your last session and wanted to let you text first.**

**But I’m glad you’re on the way back.** 💛

She managed a half-smile at the tenderness of the texts, then replied:

_You’re a sweetheart. I’m okay, though. But I WOULD like to know what you’ve planned for when I get in._

It was worth a try, she figured, but didn’t hold out much hope of it working. And she was right.

 **Nope. You can live up to your name and wait.** 😉

Deciding Smithy would approve, she went with a different tack, and used her words.

_I struggle a lot with surprises and my brain really isn’t being helpful today. Sorry._

Apparently she’d chosen the right strategy now, because she got three responses very quickly.

**Oh cariad.**

**No, I’M sorry. I only wasn’t telling you because I thought you probably wouldn’t want to watch music videos on the bus, even with headphones.**

The answer wasn’t even close to what she’d expected, and she giggled, at last completely relaxed and happy to reply:

_Hahaha. You’re right. But now I want this bus to hurry up…_

**You can’t have it both ways, Mount. You asked me to spoil the surprise.**

She was glad her earlier admission hadn’t made her girlfriend feel too guilty to be playful, and shot back:

_I’ll stop whinging if you can find a way to distract me, Deels, darling._

**Challenge accepted** 😉

She wasn’t sure how to take that, especially in the context of her therapy session, but before she had a chance to think properly there was another text.

**In all seriousness, I did want to ask your thoughts on something. Nothing too out of the ordinary but, well… you know the conversation we heard the other night?**

_Between your parents?_

She already knew the answer, but it was only decent to ask, and they were trying to stretch their chat out anyway.

**Yes.**

She wondered briefly if the full stop was a sign she should say something, as it’d sometimes been before, but then three dots appeared, followed by three words.

**It was hard.**

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat at the simple sentence, flexing her suddenly clenched fingers to send back:

_I know. Enid shouldn’t’ve said those things._

Three dots appeared and disappeared several times but she tried to stay calm, knowing that the subject of her mother was far tougher for her girlfriend than herself, and it was important that the younger woman chose how to continue. Even so, the eventual reply was a rollercoaster to read.

**It’s not just that particular conversation, though, or even just HER. It’s not actually even her being homophobic. It’s the secrecy. And that’s down to all of you. Because, like I said the day you told me about your Mam, it isn’t your choice to protect me. Now, I know when it comes to MY Mam you don’t really have much option other than to do as she says, especially as we’re dealing with distance on top of everything else. So I’m not blaming you. But, well, I guess I didn’t realise quite how much she was controlling until she got cross with Tad because she thought he’d “told” me. And our relationship is a pretty significant thing to hide. I’m twenty-four, as he’s said, and you have. I’m an adult. Surely I’m entitled to ALL the information about my life before? I mean, if we were married, you’d’ve been introduced to me as my wife from the very beginning, wouldn’t you?**

The lump in her throat grew larger, but she forced herself not to cry so she could do her duty by Delia and respond, simply at first…

_I would, yes._

…before moving on quickly to ask a question of her own:

_Deels, the bus is just pulling up to Hyde Park Corner – would you mind if I got off and went to find a bench to FaceTime you? It’ll delay our date but in the context of what you’ve just said I think it’s important._

**Of course.**

**Are you okay, though?**

She puffed out a relieved sigh at the speed of the replies, then stretched to press the button to stop the bus as she tapped out some reassurance:

_Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing bad, don’t worry, just…big._

As she hit send, she giggled at her choice of words, and the similarity to the discussion in her session. Except the “big” thing she meant now wasn’t the same one she’d taken to Smithy. It wasn’t even one she’d vaguely _dreamt_ there would be any need to broach until long after their physical reunion when Delia had her appointments at the London. But perhaps she shouldn’t’ve supposed any of this could be planned. Or even prepared for. And she herself had been uncomfortable about withholding even the smallest detail. So the secret she was about to share might save her own sanity as much as her favourite person’s.

With a sense of renewed resolve wrapping itself like a scarf around her conscience, as she stepped off the bus, her worry was not about the present but the past: if only she’d been quicker off the mark, they might’ve been married before…

But she shook herself, walking purposefully into the park. She couldn’t afford a spiral into unhelpful thoughts now. Not when she wasn’t sure when her next session with Smithy could be scheduled. Not when she needed to talk to Delia. So she practically sprinted to find a bench, sat down, and pulled out her phone. Then she took a deep breath and tapped out a text:

_I’m settled, darling. But before I call, you might want to let Huw know you might need him once we’ve talked, okay?_

**Okay. I will.**

She smiled at how quickly the reply came through, and sent one in return:

_Good. I just don’t like to think of you dealing with things alone. That’s why I hadn’t imagined mentioning this just yet, but then, well… I’m going to FaceTime you, all right?_

**All right.**

She rang through. ‘Hello, Deels.’

‘Helo, Pats,’ Delia replied softly.

‘You look worried.’

The younger woman laughed a little hollowly at the concern in her voice. ‘I guess I don’t like surprises either.’

She screwed up her face. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring this up. But you were saying how hard it was having secrets around you, and then you asked –’

She never finished her sentence, because it was cut across. ‘Are you going to tell me we _are_ married?’

Her mouth fell open briefly, even as she shook her head. ‘No, we aren’t, my love,’ she managed once she found her voice again. ‘But we did – get engaged – not long before –’

She broke off, catching her breath, and watched as her favourite blue eyes widened. ‘Oh fy Duw,’ Delia whispered, biting her lip.

‘I know,’ she replied, equally quietly. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t said anything before now, no, I’m sorry I never said anything to begin with –’

She broke off again as Delia held up a hand. ‘For fuck’s sake, Pats, this isn’t about apologies. It’s about finding out the woman I’ve been calling my girlfriend is in fact not just my girlfriend but my _fiancée_ and everyone knew – no, _knows_ – except me. That is, if my parents know?’ Blue eyes now stared at her expectantly.

‘They do,’ she confirmed, nodding. ‘But Enid said it doesn’t count any more.’

‘Iesu Mawr,’ Delia spat out. ‘Of course she did.’ Then she paused, thinking, and her eyes flicked to the fingers of her left hand, before staring through the screen again. ‘Is that why I don’t have a ring?’

She nodded, ashamed, and avoiding eye contact. ‘But I’ve still got it,’ she said, ‘I refused to return it like she asked; I had enough courage for that, at least.’ She broke off to sigh, but then realised this wasn’t about her emotions and forced herself to move on. ‘I could give it back to you when you have your appointments, if you’d like. That is, if you want anything more to do with me after this. You probably won’t even want our date now.’

‘Patience Elizabeth Mount.’

The clarity of the younger woman’s voice after the recent confusion made her look up. ‘Yes?’

The gaze that met hers was steady and even as her sweetheart continued talking. ‘You’ve been manipulated by my mother almost as much as I have, so although there’s a part of me that does very much want to tear a strip off you, my anger isn’t really at you. And I absolutely do still want our date. Like Tad said to Mam the other day, the best way for me to heal is if we do it together, and the first stage of that can be my plan for tonight. Music has been really helpful for my memory so far, especially with my early years, so I thought _we_ might swap songs from uni.’

She grinned hearing the passion behind the explanation, but was still cautious. ‘That sounds wonderful. But are you sure you’re okay to keep going? You don’t want to take some time to process, maybe talk things through with someone a bit more distant from it all?’

Delia hummed. ‘Oh, I absolutely think couples counselling would be a good idea eventually. Which is ironic, really, because what I actually wanted your thoughts on earlier was whether you’d be happy for me to see someone else at the Gateways clinic whenever I make it back to London? I think if I need to process _anything_ , it’s Mam trying to mould my life.’

She’d been unsure quite what to expect when asking the question, so such a thoughtful and measured reply made her grin even more. ‘Of course I’d be happy – I don’t have a monopoly on the place,’ she said with a slight laugh, finally feeling she could relax (at least a little) now she knew everything wasn’t ruined. Now she knew _she hadn’t_ ruined everything. Then she went on, figuring a little more thought was due. ‘I’d obviously prefer if you didn’t see Smithy, but the other therapists seem as good from their bios on the website. I just asked to see her for an assessment because she’s American and had moved around a lot, so I thought she might understand some of my struggles with feeling out of place almost anywhere I went. But I’m sure everyone is equally lovely.’ She paused for a moment, wanting to give more than a vague endorsement, but could only stare at the screen when she caught sight of the beautiful woman smiling gratefully back at her.

Delia giggled as their eyes met again. ‘I’m sure they are,’ she said encouragingly, ‘but I can do the same as you did, cariad, and look at the website. That’s not your responsibility. It’ll give me something to do while you’re heading home.’

She giggled too, but raised a brow. ‘Is that a hint?’ Her answer came in the form of a nod and a wink, so she giggled again, feeling herself blush. ‘Okay, love, I’m off. If I get the tube as well it should only take about forty minutes.’

She watched as Delia nodded a second time, reaching to tap and end the call. ‘Chat soon,’ she heard her whisper.

Once she was sure they’d been cut off, she whispered some words of her own, although not in her own _language_. ‘Rwy’n dy garu di,’ she breathed, wanting to get the phrase out even though she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it directly to Delia. Then she pushed up off the bench and restarted her journey home, for once glad of some uninterrupted time to think.

When she got in, she was tempted to throw on pyjamas, but didn’t because it would’ve delayed them texting for too much longer. Instead, flopping on her bed, she tapped out a message:

_Home. Did you have any luck with the Gateways site?_

A reply arrived as quickly as she hoped it would, despite its length.

**Yes, actually. After I’d read Tad the Riot Act. (He asked me to, said I needed to express my anger and he should’ve been stricter with Mam about something as significant as an engagement.)**

_Oh Deels, darling, I’m glad you got an outlet. Although, for Huw’s sake, I’d rather I got the brunt._

**No.**

She wanted to protest at the single word response, but knew it wasn’t really her prerogative any more, so just waited – and three dots popped up for a fairly long time.

**You aren’t here, it’s not like Mam would’ve listened to you (which is a reflection on HER, not you), but he’s her HUSBAND. And my FATHER. Whereas, when you think about it, it’s a miracle you were even allowed see me on the ward afterwards. So, as I said earlier, the way we can heal things is through you helping me to rebuild my life. OUR life. Which you’re already doing. Not least by making me aware of the Gateways clinic.**

The majority of the message was overwhelming to read, so she was glad the final sentence gave her something to answer, by returning to a previous part of their conversation:

_Oh, good. So you might’ve found someone?_

**Yes, I think a woman called Gina might fit well. She was born in Italy but grew up in Cardiff.**

She grinned, knowing how comforting such a link would be, and typed back:

_Really? That’s brilliant._

**It is. But enough about that, I want to swap music with my cariad. Which I suppose we can’t really do while on FaceTime, but we’ll just save that for afterwards. So… send me some tracks from uni on YouTube?**

She giggled, almost able to hear the cheekily pleading tone of her favourite voice, and replied:

_I’ll just turn on my Bluetooth speaker._

She was about to get up and do as she’d said, but her phone vibrated, so she stayed put.

**Oh my God OF COURSE you have a fucking Bluetooth speaker.**

She giggled again, not in the least annoyed, but shot back:

 _RUDE. If I’m going to bother having a smartphone I might as well make the most of its associated technology. Like this…_ 😉

 **Fair point.** 😂

_Glad you approve._

She at last got up, walked to her desk, smirking as she did at the record player with the stack of LPs and singles sitting beside it. That was a conversation for another day, she decided, simply reaching to power up the speaker and padding back to bed. Then, settled again, she made sure she was connected before responding:

_All set. But, before we do uni stuff, I’d quite like to know what sort of thing you listened to as a kid. We shared music a lot, but never really talked about our tastes beyond what we were listening to at the time._

Three dots didn’t appear immediately, so she was nervous, but then she understood the delay. 

**Okay, but promise you won’t judge me?**

_Of course. No judgements here._

**Okay.**

<https://youtu.be/50kP4S0peAs>

She wanted to reassure her favourite person by replying as soon as the song began, but the moment she clicked on the link, saw the opening shot of the video, and heard the familiar start, she lost all power of concentration on anything other than the music. Fuck fuck fuck. Even nearly twenty years later the song still filled her with such mixed emotions that all she could do was listen intently until the end, and curse the betrayal of her eyes and lips as tears streamed while she reflexively mouthed the words.

Only when it eventually faded out did she notice there was a notification.

**You ARE judging, aren’t you? You promised, Pats.**

Pulling herself together, she responded by sending a string of texts:

_No!_

_No, I promise._

_I LOVE that song._

_It’s just… Well, Grace did too, and we played it at her funeral. So every time I hear it I just need a second to process. I’m sorry._

Her string of texts was answered by a string in return.

**Oh gosh.**

**No, I’M sorry. I guess I thought because you were older and grew up abroad it might not be so significant, but…**

**Shit.**

**I wish I could give you a cwtch.**

She smiled at the explanation, and the thoughtfulness, and wiped her eyes to send back:

_It’s okay. I guess music inspires powerful memories for me as well. Dad used to bring us CDs back from his UK business trips, and that was one of our favourites. We’d dance to it together._

**That’s given me such a lovely image of baby Pats.**

She giggled slightly hysterically, and decided to provide a transcript of the sound she was making:

_Hahahahaha. I could send you one, I guess, if you’d like. I’d need to find it first. But enough about me, you were sending me songs._

**No no no. I’m nervous now. Your turn.**

Her heart clenched as she wished she could take away the discomfort her own pain caused, but then she shook herself and sent:

_I suppose that’s the definition of a “swap”, yes. But I had very… eclectic tastes, even as a kid, so I’m not sure there’s anything you’d know. Other than “Reach” of course._

**Try me.**

She swore under her breath, having hoped to get out of it, then giggled and told herself to stop being silly as she sent two texts:

 _Hmm. Okay. Well, one of my earliest memories is Mum and Dad dancing around the front room with me to this song – I think they wanted to emphasise the value of international collaboration, or something, but at the time I just liked singing along to the chorus._

<https://youtu.be/wqCpjFMvz-k>

There was no reply for a while, beyond the length of the song, so she got a bit worried – but the text that eventually came through tickled her a great deal.

**Ooh, I like that. I just Googled it, though, and… will it make you feel old if I say I wasn’t even born when it was released?**

_YES._

She shot that back immediately, but softened the response by adding:

_It’s okay, though, because I wasn’t born when THIS was released. But it makes me think of Mum and Grace, so I still listen to it on days when I’m feeling a bit down and want to be connected to them._

<https://youtu.be/U56Ns66Qrb8>

There was no text for quite some time, so she felt compelled to send another herself:

_Sorry, most of my choices are proving a bit morbid._

Apparently her wording warranted an almost immediate reply.

**No. I like it. And I, of all people, can understand why you use music as a tool for memory – but also how hard it is when it makes things pop up.**

She smiled at the evidence of yet more compassion from her favourite person and it made her brave enough to send something else:

_Still. I listened to other stuff too. Like this (sent on the proviso that YOU don’t judge, this time)._

<https://youtu.be/NHozn0YXAeE>

She waited patiently now, even though the song made her particularly desperate to see Delia’s face and gauge her reaction…

…and then, after several minutes of silence, all she got was one word.

**Seriously?**

_DEELS._

_Not fair._

She sent the two texts and then flipped her phone over, feeling rather pissed off, but it buzzed quickly, so she relented and checked:

**No no Pats – not judging – just surprised. I wouldn’t’ve expected you to like them, that’s all.**

_Hmm._

Having shot that off grumpily, she felt bad, so sent…

_You probably won’t expect this either._

<https://youtu.be/0fMUYU8DC1U>

…this time leaving her phone face up, intrigued.

Delia’s reply was surprisingly quick, arriving as soon as the song finished, and it caught her unawares.

**Well that’s our first dance song.**

So much so that she lost her grip and had to shift halfway down her bed to fetch the phone, by which time there was a second text.

**Pats?**

She answered with a stream because she couldn’t stop herself:

_Sorry._

_Dropped phone._

_Deels…_

_Was that a memory?_

_I know it doesn’t quite work like that_

_I just wondered_

_Because_

_Well_

She was prevented from any further rambling by a reply.

**You mean it actually IS our first dance song? The one we picked?**

She nodded reflexively, and bit her lip, because the questions had given her her answer – it wasn’t a memory. But she needed to respond, so she did, simply:

_Yes._

**Wow. No wonder it felt so familiar.**

She was still a bit overwhelmed, and mentally kicking herself for choosing to send it when it was so much _more_ than a childhood song, so she kept her sentences short for a bit:

_Because of 90s night at the Student Union._

_Or the school disco or whatever they called it._

_When we took that selfie._

_But on that note, we should move on to uni stuff._

**No. Not yet. I want to hear TEENAGE Pats’ favourite songs first.**

She sighed, but grinned at Delia’s persistence, so sent…

_Fine._

<https://youtu.be/k6EQAOmJrbw>

…pretty sure she could predict the reply that’d pop up.

**You went from Hanson to being an Emo kid?**

She laughed aloud, then quipped back:

_You ARE judging. But can you blame me?_

**Hmm. No I suppose not.**

Reading the unwritten “given what you went through”, her laugh quietened down into a giggle as she added:

_I mean technically I think I was more Grebo than Emo, but most people don’t know what that is, so…_

**What!?**

_Exactly. Originally it referred to bands/music from Stourbridge, in the Midlands near Birmingham, during the late 80s and 90s, but by the time I heard it, it was more of a general term for people who listened to alternative rock but weren’t quite Emo enough to be Emo? Like, I was as into Coldplay (don’t judge), The Fratellis and The White Stripes (all very different sounds) as I was into MCR and Fall Out Boy or Green Day and Blink 182, for instance._

She decided to stop, and hit send, realising it was getting a bit long – and when a response popped up she was glad she had.

**Woah woah woah hang on**

_Hahaha sorry I could talk about this for hours_

**No**

**It’s cute**

That was unexpected.

 _Oh_ 😳

**Very cute**

**I just need to get my head around all these names**

**Gimme a sec**

She grinned, still blushing, and sent:

_Of course, love, take your time._

A few minutes later three texts came through almost at once.

**Okay so**

**Coldplay wrote this, right? And I think, even though it was old by the time we met, it was one of our songs for when you were feeling shit.**

<https://youtu.be/k4V3Mo61fJM>

She clicked on the link, bracing herself because she sort of already knew what it would be, but when she heard the opening it didn’t affect her in the way she thought it might, like “Reach”. Instead, she was filled with warmth and safety, all heightened by the fact that her sweetheart’s choice was apparently inspired by a sparked off memory.

_They did. And it was, yes._

She thought at first that the two sentences were enough, but then she couldn’t resist getting clarity, especially after the close call about their first dance:

_Did you remember that, darling?_

**Yes. This one yes. Nothing very specific, but I think I used to spoon you and stroke your hair?**

Now she _was_ crying again, albeit with happiness, so she didn’t reply for a while – and then saw that three texts had come through.

**Pats?**

**Are you okay?**

**I’m sorry, I’ve done it again.**

_No, Deels, I’m fine. I’m HAPPY._

She knew she should say more, but she couldn’t, so hoped that’d be enough.

And it was.

**Oh, good.**

**I’m happy too.**

**I mean, it’s not very clear in my mind, like, I don’t think I’d know it was you if we weren’t talking, because I haven’t even remembered us meeting yet and I’ve got so many other gaps. But it’s there. Gosh, brains are weird, eh?**

She giggled through her tears and typed:

_Yes they are. But your brain is my favourite brain, weirdness included. And I think you’d say the same of mine. Which reminds me of another old-ish song we listened to together at uni – you used to make me shout out the title whenever my dad was being awful._

<https://youtu.be/gbdsR5cDJlk>

The two texts sent, she clicked on the link too, to listen and sing – and scream – along. She was so involved in her emotions that she yet again didn’t register the reply, but it made her smile when she saw it.

**Your brain is my favourite brain, yes. And I’m glad to know I’ve been as supportive about your Tad as you are about my Mam.**

_Oh you are absolutely, Deels, always. But especially at uni when he almost never got in contact._

**Good. But that makes me want to know more of what we listened to then, because it seems like those memories are closer to the surface than others.**

She grinned, but thought for a few seconds before responding:

_Okay. Well, again, this had already been out a while when we started, but only a year or so, and you used to sit me down and shove headphones on me when I was doubting…things._

<https://youtu.be/hlVBg7_08n0>

She was almost too anxious to send the video, not because of the song itself (it’d been popular enough to become a bit of a cliché, after all) but because of what a certain phrase had meant to them. But Delia had asked, so she had offered, and now all she could do was be patient. And hope like hell it paid off.

Thankfully it seemed to, because her sweetheart sent a string of texts.

**Oh gosh**

**This is so familiar**

**Urgh**

**I know why**

**At least I think so**

**The woman singing the refrain… Mary Lambert?**

**She had another song, right?**

**Hang on**

<https://youtu.be/YrXNdoo8wjI>

It was enough of a rollercoaster reading the thread, but when she saw the link she started breathing fast enough that she had to fight to stop herself hyperventilating as she clicked on it.

But as soon as the piano played the first chords she felt calm. Calmer than she had in almost two months. Because Delia knew about their song. It might not be their first dance one, but that didn’t matter. It was far too private to share with a group of people. It was for them, and them alone, since it held three words which had been their proxy for another triplet for the last four years.

So she turned it up and listened until the end.

But she couldn’t – shouldn’t – muse for too long afterwards, or else her sweetheart would worry. So she smiled and sent:

_She did, yes, that one._

**And so did we?**

_And so did we._

She felt a bit ridiculous just repeating things, but she didn’t quite have the wherewithal to do anything else. Thankfully, Delia seemed to have enough to say for both of them, and her response made her chuckle at its compassion.

**Oh Duw, Pats, so when I told you to “keep warm” a couple of weeks ago you must’ve been so anxious**

_Would you believe me if I said “no”?_

**No.**

The single word came back so fast it made her giggle, and she was going to reply with an equally speedy emoji, but she was interrupted by a tap on her door and the sound of her best friend’s slightly groggy voice. ‘Patience, sweetie, as thrilled as I am that you’re reconnecting with your “darling Deels”, some of us had gruelling night shifts and are trying to catch up on our beauty sleep.’

Shit.

‘Sorry, Trix,’ she called sheepishly, ‘I’ll turn it down. And make you and Babs dinner later, ’cause I probably woke her too.’

‘Thank you, sweetie. And say hi to Delia,’ Trixie trilled, and she heard her feet padding back down the corridor.

She sighed with relief and looked back at her phone.

**Are you all right, Pats?**

_Yes, Deels, sorry. Trixie knocked on my door. My speaker was too loud._

**Oh, is she over?**

She was confused by the question, but just sent:

_No, in her room down the corridor. She and Babs had night shifts._

The text was answered by an incoming FaceTime call, which she accepted, getting an image of Delia’s equally confused face. ‘You okay, love?’ she asked.

‘Do they live with you, then?’ the younger woman put in immediately, apparently wasting no time, ‘because when we FaceTimed that first day you mentioned them coming over.’

She felt herself blush as realisation finally dawned. ‘Oh. Oh gosh. Force of habit,’ she started, her tongue tripping over her words, but then she couldn’t stop babbling. ‘The thing is, we _all_ lived together, the four of us, but you and I rented a flat of our own and moved out – just before – and they let me come back after – I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to keep _another_ secret. It just slipped out that first day. God, you’re gonna hate me, aren’t you, I’ve ruined a lovely afternoon…’

She trailed off as she saw a hand up through the screen. ‘Pats. I could _never_ hate you. This _is_ a surprise, yes, but it’s a nice one. If your room was still free, that means _mine_ probably is too?’

She grinned now, relieved. ‘Yes it is,’ she said, leaving out the fact that she’d been paying rent on both for precisely that reason.

Delia grinned too. ‘Great. So, if I can come to an agreement with the girls after my appointments, they might save it ’til I’m back. You’ve not ruined _anything_ , but made my day. Now, let’s have a chat, cariad?’

She nodded happily. ‘Yes, let’s, love.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric videos in the order the songs appear:
> 
> S Club 7 – Reach: https://youtu.be/D6raJluIg40  
> Youssou N’Dour and Neneh Cherry – 7 Seconds: https://youtu.be/_7-oTDEnqPg  
> Everything But The Girl – Missing: https://youtu.be/W9VdJA6BCww  
> Hanson – MmmBop: https://youtu.be/N53-LxbIizA  
> Corrs – Runaway: https://youtu.be/vvrhomrapMM  
> My Chemical Romance – Teenagers https://youtu.be/faG5mmkDbyc  
> Coldplay – Fix You: https://youtu.be/aK3TROzVRiE  
> Martha Wainwright – Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole: https://youtu.be/AV7VZKd58j8  
> Macklemore and Ryan Lewis ft. Mary Lambert – Same Love: https://youtu.be/0eLH0GOXlCM  
> Mary Lambert – She Keeps Me Warm: https://youtu.be/rG4nRI9Wmzk
> 
> Other notes: I'm CONVINCED the 'keep warm' line from canon is a covert reference to 'Same Love' and the broader marriage equality rulings happening around the time P&D arrived on the show and it'll take a lot to persuade me otherwise. Talking of canon, hopefully my version of events prior to the accident reads okay, I know it's a lot to get in but addressing Delia's agency and stuff around that seemed important. As did demisexual representation in this modern context, so hopefully that makes sense of Patsy's perspective.
> 
> Feedback appreciated - thanks so much for reading!


	6. Delia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia has a stressful time at church, so Patsy offers 'anything to help her feel better'. Deels takes her at her word and sends songs as some suggestions. Conversations ensue, Pats is brave and shares, and then they talk even more openly...
> 
> (This chapter is where things start to get more 'M', but it's all still pretty vague and euphemistic at this point because these women are awkward af. I wouldn't call it NSFW yet, but use your discretion.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted with a huge helping of global solidarity as things are pretty scary right now. I'm grateful for the opportunity to escape into some fun flirtation between my favourite pair - and to share it with all of you.
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to engage with this story, by reading, commenting and giving kudos. I hope it gives you some joy to read, as it does for me to write. I wish you and yours safe and well.
> 
> Extra gratitude to Am_Shady for being a great beta and supportive friend <3

Doing up the last button on her pyjama top and slipping back under her duvet, Delia decided there was another reason to be thankful that she was still so frequently banished to her bedroom – Sundays. Sundays and their bittersweet beauty. The one day she could guarantee being allowed out of the house, but only on the condition that she went to church and sat around to socialise afterwards. And then there was lunch. At least she could plead tiredness and escape upstairs as soon as they’d eaten.

**I’m free, Pats.**

She sent those three words the second she was comfortable in bed, and wondered if the older woman would understand how much was meant by the adjective. After all, Patsy hadn’t been off on a Sunday since they’d started texting again, and she wasn’t sure they’d talked about religion… before… but if she knew her Mam well, then maybe…

Her worries were cut off when two texts arrived.

_Hello, Deels_

_Did you survive the Service okay?_

She let out a relieved giggle at the wording of the question – her sweetheart most _definitely_ understood.

**Yes, just about. But everyone at tea afterwards kept telling me they’re praying that I make a full recovery and that makes me feel funny…**

She wasn’t sure about sending the text, because she knew they were both counting on her being allowed to get back to work and she didn’t want to come across as though she wasn’t committed to their future, but she needed to tell someone – and when she got the response she was glad she had.

_Urgh, just what you needed before Sunday lunch. I’m sorry, love, I hope it didn’t put you off your food._

**No.** 😂 **It hurt though. Obviously I want my memory back, and to be able to work again, but what does a “full recovery” even MEAN, really?**

She was nervous about the question, but her cariad was being so supportive that she felt brave enough to ask, and she was again glad she had.

_I honestly don’t know. But I DO know you’re perfectly lovely as you are, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise._

She was a bit overwhelmed by the second sentence, so deflected with a joke:

**I thought you were a pacifist, Pats?**

_Oh, I am on a general level, but when it comes to individual bigotry and prejudice I’d quite happily cause a ruckus. That is if my ice-cold glare and raised eyebrow don’t scare them off._

She laughed aloud, grateful for the release after several hours of keeping her feelings in check, and sent back:

**Duw, Mount, you’re brilliant.**

_Anything to help you feel better, Busby._

As they were apparently in a mutually flirtatious mood, she decided to try her luck, sending three texts:

**ANYTHING?**

**Even this?**

<https://youtu.be/FA5jsa1lR9c>

She expected it to take longer than the song for a reply to appear – a _lot_ longer, in fact – but three popped up within thirty seconds of her sending it.

_Delia Carys Busby_

_Are you trying to seduce me…_

_…with the Spice Girls?_

She giggled and shot back:

**Maybe.**

**Why, cariad, wrong crowd?**

The question got a very unexpected answer.

_I mean, it’s an inclusive video, I’ll give them that. There’s women-loving-women representation. And, as a midwife, I DO respect Baby Spice’s efforts to promote safe sex a lot more now than my naïve mind did as a kid, but…_

She blushed, confused by the last bit, and sent:

**What ARE you talking about?**

_I think “Be a little bit wiser, baby / Put it on, put it on” rather speaks for itself, don’t you?_

She nearly threw her phone across the room as she read the reply, but caught it to type frantically:

**Oh my God.**

**We sang that in the playground where teachers could hear.**

_Deels. Us and the rest of the world. Take a breath. I’m just teasing._

She giggled shakily and shot back:

**So was I.**

_Well then. Do continue. I’m intrigued now – what would you have sent instead, if I’d just said “Yes, wrong crowd”?_

She thought for a moment, then flicked through and found the video on YouTube:

**This.**

<https://youtu.be/hK5obmgq6u0>

Once again, barely thirty seconds passed before a reply popped up.

_Hahaha. You are an utter FOOL, Busby. And a total snob. Mocking my younger self’s favourite band will get you NOWHERE._ 😉

**Who says I’m mocking, Mount?**

_Oh._

_OH._

_You mean you’ve actually started listening to them? Properly?_

She giggled at the plaintive tone evident in the progression of the three texts, and sent:

**Yes, love. While I was getting dressed this morning. But I’ve also been listening to other bands, so I had a third option too. They weren’t one of the ones you listed yesterday, but…**

<https://youtu.be/ecc9pcjJTpk>

_Oh my gosh I LOVE The Kooks. And this song. It was on “Gavin & Stacey”, I think, wasn’t it?_

She was totally nonplussed by the question, because the name sounded familiar ( _so familiar_ ) but she couldn’t place it at all. So she figured she’d got two options – play along or admit. After a bit of angst, she went with the second, and kept things basic:

**What’s “Gavin and Stacey”?**

Thankfully three dots told her she wouldn’t have to wait that long for a reply, because she was nervous, but the eventual answer was much less satisfactory than she’d hoped.

_Really, Deels? You’re Welsh!_

**Unfortunately my cultural identity did little to protect me from the effects of amnesia, Pats.**

She knew she was being snappy, and really ought to soften things, but she still felt raw after church and her sweetheart’s response seemed flippant if not downright thoughtless.

_Shit, I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to hurt you._

The apology popped up so fast she wouldn’t’ve had time to say anything else anyway, and she smiled as she sent back:

**I know, I’m sorry too, that was unfair.**

Then, deciding to try and patch things up, she added:

**I’M intrigued now, though. What’s “Gavin & Stacey”?**

_A sitcom that was on between 2007 and 2010. With Mathew Horne and Joanna Page playing Gavin (from Essex) and Stacey (from Barry) Written by James Corden and Ruth Jones, who also play their best friends, Smithy and Nessa_.

She was aware the most interesting part of the description was supposed to be that Stacey was Welsh, but she found Smithy’s name much more amusing, and said so:

**So his best mate has the same name as your therapist?**

_Oh God. Yes. You know, I’d not realised that before. Thanks for that, Deels, I’ll never be able to think of her in the same way. Or him._

She giggled, enjoying the chance to turn the tables again in their teasing, and sent:

**You started seeing her after it aired, as well, right?**

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, and reappeared, and her giggle became a laugh as she waited. Eventually, four texts followed each other very quickly:

_Yes_

_But for entirely unrelated reasons_

_Deels you may have ruined my concentration in my sessions forever_

_Oh God and it’s coming back for a Christmas Special this year – that’s why I thought you might know it, even after your accident, because there’s been a lot of publicity. Oh God oh God oh God._

She laughed again but asked a question to clarify the issue:

**What’s so terrible about him that you don’t like the association with her?**

_He’s not terrible. He’s just very… open… about sexual things._

She raised a brow, intrigued by the way their conversation had apparently come full circle, and decided to keep things simple:

**Ah. Well, I understand why that’d be awkward with regards to therapy, cariad, so I’m sorry I made the connection for you. But I actually think it’s IMPORTANT to be open about sexual things. Don’t you, as a midwife, since you praised Emma Bunton?**

She expected an answer to take a while, but a text actually arrived almost immediately.

_Well, yes, especially on a professional level._

Her eyebrow shot up further, even though she herself had referenced midwifery; she’d hoped it wouldn’t be this hard to have a proper discussion. But perhaps she just needed to say that, so she did:

**I don’t just mean professionally, though, Pats.**

She wasn’t sure about being so bold, but she realised she was still a bit frazzled after _yesterday_ , never mind church earlier. She also felt she was owed honesty from now on, especially in their relationship. Thankfully Patsy seemed to agree.

_I know, Deels. It’s just… hard for me to talk about this stuff._

As she read the reply, she could almost hear the desperation in what was fast becoming her favourite voice, and responded accordingly:

**It’s okay, cariad. I won’t push if it makes you uncomfortable. I just want you to know YOU won’t get any judgement from me either.**

She waited, watching as three dots popped up and expecting them to stick around, and was pleasantly surprised when a text came through fairly fast.

_You’re lovely. And technically I guess you already know._

She smiled at the quip and sent back some additional reassurance:

**I guess I do, yes. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that telling me a second time will be any easier. I mean, coming out again to you and Tad was TERRIFYING, possibly even more so than the first time.**

Her admission was apparently enough to coax some openness in return, as three replies arrived in quick succession.

_You’re so wise._

_And I think Smithy – my therapist, not the fictional character! – would agree with you._

_She said something along those lines in my session yesterday._

The fact that she seemed to have hit the right note was a relief, and she was intrigued by the revelation that Patsy had talked about at least a vaguely related topic in therapy, so she continued their chat by asking a gentle question:

**And how did it feel to hear that?**

_Oh my God you sound like her when she’s being rhetorical._ 😉 _But it was helpful to hear it. Although that doesn’t take away my frustration at not being able to tell you now. Not really._

She giggled at the first sentence, and the emoji, and then got serious at the rest of it. So she sent back:

**Would it help if I asked questions? Not rhetorical ones.**

The answer was almost instantaneous.

_Maybe. I dunno. Fuck it. Try me._

She giggled again, although her reply was sincere:

**Okay, are you bi?**

She didn’t think that was the case, but it was possible, because Patsy had just said “I’m the same” before. Not, “I’m also gay/a lesbian”. And it was important to show she didn’t mind either way. Because she didn’t.

_No, love, I’m VERY VERY gay. Trixie’s bi, though, and won’t mind me telling you because SHE’S very very OPEN. In the best possible way._

She laughed aloud at that explanation and decided to provide an emoji transcript:

😂😂😂 **Hahaha okay.**

Then she thought for quite some time before sending a second query:

**Hmm, are you asexual?**

She was just as unsure about asking this, but a reply appeared very fast.

_No, but I’m u-sexual._

She was now very confused and said so:

**Patsy. I’m being serious. There’s no such thing.**

_Delia. So am I. And there is. Although the abbreviation probably wasn’t helpful. I’m trying to hide behind humour. I mean I’m YOU-sexual._

She was no wiser after reading the response, but she _was_ a bit less snappy:

**Pats. I know I like puns, but you’ve lost me, cariad.**

_Sori, Deels. I’ll FaceTime you. It’ll be easier to explain if we can see each other._

She nodded reflexively in agreement, and waited patiently for the call to come through, smiling with simultaneous nerves and excitement when her favourite face appeared on the screen. Then she grinned as she saw Patsy looked suitably sheepish. ‘Helo, annwyl.’

The older woman’s eyes lit up like an eager child at the phrase. ‘You’ve not said that since – Sorry –’

Her younger partner watched as she broke off and blushed; then shook her head reassuringly. ‘It’s okay. I’ll use it more often now I know you like it,’ she offered with a wink. ‘Now, speaking of what you like –’

She broke off herself as she heard the redhead groan. ‘I mean it. I like _you_.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, so you keep telling me. But, just for clarity, you _are_ a lesbian, right? So you like women?’

The question got a nod, although Patsy still protested. ‘Yes, but not just _any_ women.’

It was her turn to groan now. ‘No, Pats, I get that. Obviously no women-loving-women would voluntarily be attracted to straight women if we could help it. But I mean women _like us_. Queer women.’

The statement, and its qualifier, was answered by an exasperated expression and a sigh. ‘ _Deels_. I mean it. I don’t want to be with “women _like us_ ”, I just want to be _with you_.’

She sighed too. ‘Well, as flattering as that sounds, I’m afraid I’m still confused, sweetheart.’

Her darling had the decency to be genuinely contrite. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being obtuse because I’m feeling awkward.’ She observed, admiring, how Patsy’s chest rose and fell as she drew a deep breath. ‘When I said I’m _very very_ gay, I meant I’m _very very_ gay for _you_.’ There was a pause for another breath. ‘What I actually am is demisexual. And that means I only experience sexual attraction once I’ve established an emotional bond with someone. I also find it difficult to _express_ that attraction unless I’m absolutely sure of privacy. Given that I’m not very, well, forthcoming about _creating_ emotional connections, you’re the only person to whom I’ve ever properly been attracted.’

She shot the older woman a gentle grin to signal that her response was positive, but stayed quiet for a few seconds, needing to stave off her overwhelm at the revelation, despite the good reasons behind it. Because, much like their previous conversation about Patsy’s childhood, she couldn’t quite believe she’d been considered trustworthy enough to get beyond _these_ barriers. But she knew she needed to say something soon, so borrowed one of the redhead’s techniques and hid behind a joke – of sorts. ‘ _That’s_ why we got the flat, then? So we could wave each other off each morning and then come home and close the door at night – and talk and talk and I could have you rambling about random indie bands in that adorable way all to myself?’ She paused, realising _she_ was rambling herself, and then noticed the shocked, if slightly intrigued, stare on the screen. ‘There’s no need to look so scandalised, Pats,’ she soothed, ‘I can hardly jump on you from here, can I? And after you telling me this I wouldn’t dream of it. Consent is everything, cariad,’ she insisted, ‘and I know I was flippant earlier, but it really is a flattering thought that I’m your only focus in that way.’

She must’ve paused slightly, because the redhead jumped in. ‘Really? You don’t mind?’

‘Really,’ she repeated, with such a vehement nod that she suddenly had a brown curtain in front of her face. ‘And of course I don’t.’ Then she grew quiet again as she mulled things over a bit more. ‘I guess, though,’ she continued while she pushed her hair back, suddenly serious, ‘that means it’ll probably take a while for you to… _want_ anything… again because our bond likely isn’t as strong.’ She stopped, observing that the expression on the face opposite had shifted. ‘What?’

She watched as Patsy blushed bright red before replying, sheepishly, ‘I’ve been turned on for the past month and a bit, Deels,’ came the stilted admission, ‘and I couldn’t do anything about it.’

It was her turn to blush now, albeit partly through giddy delight. ‘Oh, Pats, you poor thing,’ she said, hoping she sounded sincere instead of patronising. ‘You could’ve… touched yourself… though, cariad.’

If it were possible, Patsy seemed to go even redder. ‘I didn’t want to, it felt weird when you didn’t know what we were to each other,’ she said in a very shy voice, ‘and anyway, I always find it difficult to get comfortable enough…’

She took up the trailed thread. ‘Oh, yes,’ she offered with a comforting grin, ‘the privacy issue. Well, if it helps, I can’t either, because I never know when Mam might waltz in unannounced.’

‘We’re a right pair,’ Patsy put in with a chuckle, apparently perked up by the comparison of their experiences.

She nodded, giggling too. ‘We are, yes. But that’s a good thing in a relationship, isn’t it? And you know, annwyl, we do have privacy now. On our phones.’

Her sweetheart seemed very confused. ‘What do you mean, Deels?’

She quirked a brow. ‘Surely you’ve heard of sexting, Pats?’

She watched as realisation dawned and the redhead went puce again. ‘I’m not sending _nudes_!’

She rolled her eyes in what she hoped was an affectionately irritated gesture. ‘Not pictures, cariad, words. Like when we’ve flirted before, but… more intense?’ she finished vaguely, not wanting to admit she was slightly embarrassed herself.

Thankfully it seemed Patsy was still processing the suggestion, and hadn’t noticed her awkwardness. Instead, wide blue eyes stared incredulously through the screen, and the older woman bit her lip. ‘You don’t think that’ll just get us both more frustrated because we can’t…?’ she asked, obviously avoiding all the possible words which might end the sentence she’d started so bravely.

She shook her head and grinned. ‘Not if we’re turned on enough, annwyl,’ she offered in a low voice she hoped sounded a bit sultry. ‘There are studies about spinal injury showing it’s possible, although the reports vary across scholarship. But it’s not exclusive to a particular group of women – if you want more academic evidence there’s this book called _The Science of Orgasm_ by Komisaruk, Beyer-Flores and Whipple. That was published in 2007, so not that long ago really, but if you want an even more recent example, I read a Refinery29 article about it. I’ll send you the link when we’ve finished chatting. A woman wrote in in 2017, wanting to know if she was “normal”, and the woman answering said she hoped so because it happened to her too!’ She broke off to giggle, and caught sight of a glance being sent her way that looked…admiring? Intrigued? ‘What?’ she asked, almost whispering.

‘You’ve really done your research, haven’t you?’ the redhead answered huskily.

She covered with a laugh. ‘Of course I have, cariad, I’m a nurse. Or was, anyway,’ she clarified sadly.

‘ _You are_ ,’ Patsy interrupted in a stern but gentle voice.

‘Duw, I love you,’ she replied, giggling.

‘I love you too. But don’t you mean, “Caru ti?”’ came the immediate reply.

‘Why yes, I believe I do,’ she shot back, still giggling, then took a breath before continuing. ‘And I’m so proud of you for having this conversation, Pats. But I think that’s enough excitement for one afternoon. So how’s about we snuggle down and have a virtual watch party of _Gavin and Stacey_? If you can stomach it now, that is…’

She trailed off, a bit worried about the last bit, and was relieved to hear her favourite voice roar with laughter. ‘I think that’s a fabulous idea, Deels darling. Almost as fabulous as you. But send me that link first, okay?’ Patsy purred.

She nodded, winking. ‘I will, annywl,’ she promised as she tapped to end the call.

Then, smirking, she sent two texts:

<https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/female-orgasm-without-touch>

💦💦💦💦💦

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric videos for songs:
> 
> https://youtu.be/DztMQOG20jc (2 Become 1 Lyrics)  
> https://youtu.be/xDhKUhmy6DM (Where’s The Love lyrics)  
> https://youtu.be/rfajVDpGXM8 (She Moves In Her Own Way lyrics)


	7. Patsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Patsy is tired and cold after her shift, so Delia finds a way to warm her up despite their distance.
> 
> (Later bits of this chapter are very much 'M' rated for sexual content, though still quite subtle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted with love and solidarity from locked down London (wishing everyone safe and well!). Thank you for our sense of community in this tough time, and for continuing to read my story. Writing it is one of the things keeping me going, so I hope reading it is of some help to you too.

**How’s my demi darling?**

Turning her phone on as she left the London after a very busy shift the next day, Patsy hadn’t expected any text to pop up, and she blushed reading the one that did. It was very unexpected indeed. Delia hadn’t used the word itself since their frank (and _fucking scary_ ) conversation the previous afternoon. In fact, despite being supportive, she’d seemed to understand that Patsy needed at least a little time to process the implications of revealing this aspect of her sexuality, and had somehow directed the rest of their chats _away_ from things that might be awkward. And the older woman loved her for it. But tonight, having been on her best behaviour for almost twenty-four hours, the cheeky Welshwoman had apparently decided the processing period had come to an end. And tonight, she was happy to play along.

_Hahaha. Is that my new nickname, then?_

**Maybe.**

_So you really don’t mind?_

She hit send as she slid her phone into the pocket of her uniform under her coat so she could safely hail a cab. It was extravagant, and she was appalled at herself for even considering it, but it cut her journey by ten minutes at least, she couldn’t face the prospect of having to stand on the tube, she would never order an Uber for ethical reasons, and…well…she wanted to be able to text. So rather than judging too much, she gave the cabbie a friendly wave in thanks for stopping, hopped in and got settled. Only once she’d told her – _her_! – the address did she let herself grab her phone again. And then she grinned.

**Pats. Of course I don’t mind. I meant it when I sent you “She Moves In Her Own Way”. It’s just another reason I love you. But you still haven’t told me how you are, annwyl.**

She giggled into the fabric of her coat as she sent back:

_I’m all right._

**Only all right? Well, we’ll have to do something to sort that when you get in, won’t we? But not just yet because you’re probably on the bus.**

She snorted now. Was her routine really that predictable? But she just sent:

_In a cab, actually, Busby._

**Ooh, get you, Mount. Well in that case you’ve still got about 20 minutes, so I can ask you a question. Has Abby Jackson asked after me since I’ve been off?**

She quirked a brow at the unexpected query, and replied:

_From training? Yes._

**Well next time you see her, kindly tell her to “fuck off” for me, love.**

She held back what would’ve been a loud laugh and, typing with a shaking hand, sent back:

_You never really got on, but any particular reason?_

**I didn’t just fall on you on the first day. She PUSHED me.**

Her eyes went wide as she tried to reply as sensitively as possible:

_Hmmm. Well, in that case, as much as I’m sorry, I think I might actually thank her. Because she’s technically responsible for our relationship._

**Oh**

**I guess you’re right**

**Okay then**

**Scratch that – but she was still awful**

She chuckled at the transformation, then realised what it all meant, and blushed as she asked a question of her own:

_So you’ve caught up to uni in your recollections, then?_

**Mhmm. Not everything, but most things. And the clearest stuff is to do with you. Our chats this weekend really helped.**

She blushed even more, but covered by quipping:

 _I’m flattered, but don’t you think you could’ve organised delivery of these memories a few days ago, and saved me the excruciating pain of having that conversation all over again yesterday!?_ 😛

She was a bit wary about the response, but Delia seemed to take it in the spirit it was meant.

 **Nope. I had to come out twice. Tit for tat, cariad.** 😉

She nearly dropped her phone down the side of the seat, but caught it and shot back:

_I suppose that’s one way of putting it._

Apparently the lack of an emoji on her reply was a worry.

**Sori, annwyl, I shouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable in the back of a taxi.**

_It’s all right_ , she typed bravely, but then (realising she was actually terrified of the thought of anything escalating in her current surroundings) deleted it and sent instead:

_That’s very considerate of you._

The beginnings of what seemed to be mini-essay popped up in answer.

**Nope.**

**Just basic decency.**

**I want you to feel safe in everything, always, but especially in relation to, well, our relationship.**

Three dots appeared for a while, giving her space to chuckle at the (seemingly unintentional) pun, and she took the opportunity to interrupt with some emojis:

🙄 😛

The three dots disappeared and she received a single word.

**Oi.**

Then the three dots popped up again, so she decided she ought to live up to her name for once and be patient. And eventually, she was rewarded, albeit with slight annoyance… which did thankfully soften as the text went on.

**I’m trying to make a serious point here. I know how important it is that you feel comfortable and in control. That’s important for EVERYONE, of course, and it should be a baseline regardless, but in the context of what you told me and what I’ve now remembered, it feels even more crucial. Because, cariad, I don’t want you doing anything, or me to do anything, you aren’t fully up for… and there was an aspect of your explanation the first time around that you left out of this one.**

She raised a brow because, despite having expected this to come up at some point, she felt unprepared now it had. So she hedged:

_…I did?_

**You did, yes.**

It was technically impossible to read tone through text, but Delia’s response seemed so gentle. And it gave her the courage to continue the conversation by asking another question:

_What was that?_

Three dots stuck around for a bit, though not nearly as long as before, thank goodness.

**Being demi is technically under the asexual umbrella, annwyl.**

Her relief turned into anxiety, and she grimaced as her expectations were confirmed, but she managed to calm down enough to tap out a reply that hopefully made vague sense:

_Well, yes, it’s on the grey-ace spectrum, but it’s not quite the same thing, so when you asked I didn’t want to say “yes” in case you were stressed out before I had a chance to qualify. I wasn’t trying to deny that, or other demi and ace people’s experiences._

She hit send before she could stop herself, then chewed on her lip while she waited. She was grateful that only a few seconds elapsed before a reply arrived, followed by several more.

**Oh love.**

**I know you weren’t.**

**But it wouldn’t’ve stressed me out.**

**Our connection isn’t just sexual. Not that I’d mind if it was, or mind either way, but**

**Urgh I’m not saying this well, am I?**

**What I mean is, I know I’M only really just over a month into this, but now my uni memories are coming back, and we were together for four years before… before. So surely you know that sex isn’t a big deal for me? For us?**

The questions read like they needed an answer fairly rapidly, and she wanted to offer it, but she _didn’t_ know. So she said that:

_I’m not sure I know ANYTHING any more._

Then, as she hit send, she realised how insensitive that might seem, and added…

_Gosh, sorry, wrong choice of words._

…giving herself a moment to respond in more detail:

_I just mean my sense of self, and my BELIEF in myself and my value, have been shaky ever since I was a kid, so I need quite a bit of reassurance. I get scared of people leaving. I’m sorry, that’s so needy._

She was scared Delia might leave now, after reading the admission, but she needed to be transparent. And it seemed to pay off, because another stream of texts popped up.

**Uh-uh.**

**It isn’t needy.**

**It’s brave of you to share, and I understand why you feel that way.**

**Especially now.**

**I’m never going to judge you for doubting reality in my state, am I?**

She giggled at the last question and sent back:

_I guess not, no._

**Okay then.**

**So, on that basis, let me be VERY clear, cariad – if you never want to sleep with me, I won’t mind. I might moan if you didn’t want to sleep NEXT to me, but that’s a different issue. I need a good cwtch to drop off.**

The last line, and particularly the fact that it was left to do its job without emojis, made her bite her lip to hold back the howl of laughter which would be utterly inappropriate in her current circumstances. She didn’t dare distract the cabbie. So she restrained herself, typing:

_I know you do. And so do I. I appreciate the distinction, though. A LOT. But let ME be clear, now, love – I want to. To sleep next to you, and with you. And the latter has been niggling at me since we got our own place. You were right that was one of the main reasons we moved._

Having hit send, she wondered briefly if she’d been _too_ frank, even in the context. But there was nothing to be done, so she just took a deep breath.

Thankfully Delia’s reply was almost overwhelmingly positive.

**I’d love to help with that, Pats, if you’ll let me…**

She was so relieved she didn’t even overthink as she answered:

_I’ll let you, Deels. But do you think it’ll work?_

**Over text? Sure, if I can get you relaxed… and turned on… enough.**

😉

She knew the emoji was intended ironically, and to make her roll her eyes, but its actual effect was a surprise, and she felt herself wiggle involuntarily in her seat. Biting her lip, she sent back a simple query:

_Did you mean to start already?_

The response was equally basic.

**Why, are you getting worked up?**

She blushed at the phrasing and sent:

_I think so._

**Whoops. Sori, cariad. What can I do to distract you for the rest of your taxi ride?**

She grinned at the compassion in the question, answering:

_Tell me about your day?_

**Hmm, okay**

**Well, nothing much to report, really. Binged some telly.**

The second sentence of the second text made her grin, but then she got a bit sad and sent:

_After yesterday, I’m guessing not “Gavin and Stacey”?_

**Not “Gavin and Stacey”, no. Sori, annwyl.**

Genuine remorse was evident in the answer, and she smiled, replying in return:

_No no, I’M sorry, I forgot how questionable it was in some ways. What’d you watch instead?_

The initial response was just one word.

**“Buffy”**

Her heart leapt a little and she started typing back, _squeeeeeee_ , but then three dots suggested another text would soon pop up, so she waited.

**I told Tad my plan to stimulate my memories with music after it worked so well with childhood stuff, and he brought out my box set on Thursday, thinking it might help as well. I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t have an effect, but I’ve been watching it whenever you’ve been busy since then. I’m only just up to Season 3, but so far, he’s right. We used to watch it together, didn’t we?**

She grinned and sent…

_We did, yes._

…but then she had a terrible thought, and added:

_Let me know when you get to Season 5, okay?_

**I will. But didn’t we get at least that far together before? I think so, and I’m hoping that this time I’ll have remembered everything that happens by then so it’s not such a shock when it does.**

She smiled again, impressed by the preparation, but still suggested caution:

_All right, just tell me when you get there, either way. I want to support you._

**I will. You’re so sweet to me.**

She grinned properly now and sent:

_You deserve it, Deels._

**So do you, Pats. Are you nearly home?**

On reading that, she realised she’d been so focused on their chat that she hadn’t really registered the progression of her journey, so she looked up, then sent:

_Shit. She’s just turning into the road. Diolch, darling. I, um, need to pay and things, so how’s about I text you once I’m settled?_

**Perfect, Pats.**

She grinned again, then slipped her phone back into her uniform pocket to engage with the cabbie through the Perspex divider. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, feeling a bit shy as she spoke after such a long silence. ‘Sorry I’ve not been very talkative. Tired after my shift.’

‘That’s all right luvvie,’ the woman replied cheerily, drawing the vehicle to a stop outside the house. ‘You do more than enough for the community in your job, I don’t blame you wanting quiet. Here we are, you have a relaxing evening, now.’

She grinned as she slipped out of the cab and around to the driver’s window to pay. ‘You’re very kind. I don’t suppose you’ve a card I could take in case you’re available for future trips?’ she asked, handing over the fare. ‘If I know in advance when I’ll be off, that is.’

‘’Course, love,’ was the immediate reply, accompanied by a business card in return for the cash she’d passed over. ‘You just give us a call. Jeanie.’

She grinned wider. ‘Thank you, Jeanie. I’m Patsy.’

‘All right, Patsy, duck. You get in and warm, now.’

She nodded, flashing a further grin, then skipped inside to shake off the sudden chill. She was glad she’d said she’d be the one to text, because she needed a moment to warm up; literally rather than figuratively. So, before heading upstairs to change, she went to the kitchen and poured some coconut milk into a mug, which she then shoved into the microwave. Using the time it took to heat, she scrounged in the pull-out cupboard for a sufficiently dark bar of chocolate, and snapped off a square. The milk warmed to her liking, she plopped the square into the mug, searching again for a spoon to stir it. Then, and only then, did she venture to her room – and, placing the mug on her bedside table, allowed herself to reach for her pyjamas and undress. All this at last accomplished, she dove under the covers, deciding to risk balancing both her mug and her phone to text:

_In bed._

Three dots barely had time to appear before a reply arrived…

**Welcome home, cariad.**

…followed swiftly by another.

**You comfy?**

She chuckled at that and sent:

_Very, thanks. Treated myself to a home-made coconut milk hot chocolate._

**Ooh, yummy. Home-made?**

_Mhmm. With a square of dark chocolate. 90%. As bitter as my soul._

The joke worked as she hoped it would, as she got told off with three texts.

🙄

**Shut it, you.**

**You’re a great softy and you know it.**

She giggled again and shot back:

_If you say so._

An answer arrived immediately.

**I do.**

She was going to send a 😛, but a second text popped up.

**You aren’t vegan, are you?**

She laughed properly at that, then swore as her hot chocolate sploshed about a bit, but thankfully nothing spilt. To be on the safe side, though, she downed her drink – and only replied once the empty mug was safely back on the bedside table:

_No. Although Phyllis would be pleased. It’s just childhood comfort. The taste, I mean._

Three dots stuck around for a while and she waited, unsure how Delia would respond. But, as usual, any concern was unnecessary.

 **Oh, yes, I understand** 💛

Her own heart fluttered as she saw the symbol and, emboldened by the feeling, she sent:

_Not that I really want to channel my childhood tonight. I was just very cold._

Her bravery was answered by a string of texts.

**Oh?**

**Well, I think I know a way to help with that.**

**And it requires some mood music.**

<https://youtu.be/96KLflS5f6g>

Curious, she tapped on the link, deciding to listen to it through the speakers on her phone, so she could muffle it with her duvet if it got too loud. While it played, though, it turned out what she needed to muffle was her slightly wicked laugh – so she slid down her bed as she typed:

_Oh my God Deels_

**Right crowd, this time, Pats?**

She laughed again at the reference and sent…

 _YES._ 😍😍😍

…followed by an intrigued question:

_Do you know that this is literally my favourite White Stripes song?_

Three dots appeared and disappeared, as though Delia was trying to work out how to respond, and then the reply made her shake with giggles.

**Well, not exactly. But of all their songs this one felt the most familiar when I was listening to their back catalogue, and I’ve a feeling I’ve been waiting four years for an appropriate opportunity to use it.**

Once she’d calmed down, she kept up with the impudent tone:

_Delia Carys Busby, you are incorrigible._

**So you keep saying, Patience Elizabeth Mount.**

She giggled yet again, knowing she’d asked for that, but wanting to push things a bit further:

_So are you gonna put your money where your mouth is?_

She breathed heavily as she sent that, never having imagined she could be so…forthright. But apparently it was approved of, because Delia went to a whole other level.

**I dunno, depends where you want my mouth.**

Oh.

Wow.

She squirmed as she read, then heard herself sigh, and found all she could reply was:

_Fuck. Deels._

**Yes, Pats? You okay? Too much?**

She breathed a sigh of relief at the comforting questions. How she loved this woman and her compassion. Steadying her hand, she typed back:

_I’m okay. Not too much. I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that._

Hitting send, she shook her head at her own inadequacy, but grinned again when several texts arrived.

😂

**No, I don’t suppose you do.**

**I don’t think I would either.**

**I’m surprised I was brave enough to come up with anything as explicit as that.**

**Shall we start again?**

Recovered now, she quickly sent back:

_Probably best._

**Okay**

**Well**

**I think I’m going kiss your nose, if you don’t mind?**

She giggled and, realising this was one example of when the speed of an emoji was very useful indeed, replied simply with:

💚

Apparently it went down rather well.

**Ooh, I like that tactic. But maybe you should have one to get me to stop, as well, annwyl?**

She nodded reflexively before responding:

_I guess that’s sensible, yes. Not the red heart, though, because that’ll get confusing. And a stop sign is too intense an image to take in quickly when it’s so small. Hmmm…_

She flicked through the symbols on the keyboard until she found one that felt comfortable:

🔴

_This._

**Yes. Those are both great.**

She grinned again and sent:

_I’m glad you approve. You’re the emoji expert here. You can use them, too, if you want._

**Of course I approve.**

**I’m THRILLED you’ll be using them more often, hahaha.**

**And yes, I’ll steal the red circle, cariad.**

**But my heart HAS to be this one…**

💛

She shook with giggles at the stream of texts, responding immediately:

_Gosh, yes, of course it does_

😍

Apparently her efforts here were appreciated as well, because she got back…

🤩

…although it was followed by a gentle reprimand.

**But this isn’t about me. Right now, I’m kissing your nose.**

She giggled yet again and decided not to argue:

💚

**And your cheek**

💚

**And your chin**

She was a bit put out. One’s chin was lower than one’s cheeks, after all, and there was an aspect of one’s face nestled between those two anatomical markers which she considered rather crucial in the current situation. So, instead of offering a green heart, and with it a green light, she sent a full word:

_Tease_

**Patience, Patience.**

She groaned and, rolling her eyes, was typing out _Oh for f –_

– when a second text appeared.

**And now, to stop you swearing at me, I’m kissing your lips.**

The sound she let out while she read was half a giggle and half a whimper, and she found herself shocked into stillness for a moment as she registered its accompanying physical responses. Despite being entirely alone and doing nothing but watch words on a screen, she felt herself blush, and heard her breath quicken completely of its own accord. She was so shocked it was actually proving possible (well, the beginnings, at least) that she forgot _she_ had a part to play in this process.

The buzz of her phone brought her back to mental as well as physical alertness.

**Pats, cariad, you okay?**

Shit.

_Yes_

_Sorry_

_Very okay_

_Almost TOO okay_

She added the last one hoping Delia would recognise her own phrasing from when they’d talked about the awkwardness of arousal a week or so back, and it seemed she did.

**Ah**

**Already?**

**(That’s not a judgement, by the way, I’m very impressed)**

She giggled at the careful qualifier and sent:

_Thank you for the reassurance. I’m mostly flustered right now, but I think you’ve convinced me that this might actually work._

💚💚💚

**Oh**

😍

**Well, I’ll just run my tongue over your lips, then, shall I?**

She managed to send a text in approval…

💚

…but then her phone fell out of her grasp as she whimpered and squirmed at the reply.

**Do you think you could open your mouth for me, annwyl?**

She stretched to find her phone and sent back a very direct answer:

_Yes and oh my God Deels questions are so good._

There was a string of replies within what seemed like only a few seconds.

**Oh?**

**Really?**

**Are you happy for me to keep kissing you like this, then?**

Her whimper turned to a soft moan as she sent:

💚💚💚

**Hmmm, good. But I think, while I do that, I might just sneak a hand under your pyjama shirt and stroke the soft skin at your ribs. Would you like that?**

Somehow, even though she was nowhere near close, she could already hardly concentrate to type. But she was compelled to offer more than an emoji or three, so forced herself to send back:

_Yes please._

**So polite, Pats**

**Okay, I’m skimming my fingers over your sides as I kiss you, now. Does that feel good?**

At the question, she shivered involuntarily with delight (and still a fair whack of amazement that it was working), and giggled as she replied:

_SO good, Deels._

**And how about if I move one hand up your ribs to your chest?**

She gasped, now feeling the effects of the question in two places – the area mentioned in the text, and another, much lower down her body. She’d been sensitive there for some time, which was why she’d been squirming so much, but she could no longer ignore the insistent sensation. If she wanted anything done about it, though, she needed to keep communicating. So she did, if a bit differently than before:

_Oh_

_My_

_God_

_Yes_

**Hmmm, so you like that?**

She found herself nodding, and giggled, taking a deep breath to focus before responding:

_This is so bizarre I can’t quite get my head around it, but yes, I do._

Her answer got a reply in turn, but it wasn’t the one she expected.

**Has anyone ever told you you think too much, annwyl?**

She barked out a laugh and shot back three texts:

_Yes_

_You_

_All the time, and you know it, or else you wouldn’t be asking._

She got three texts in response, each of which only further confirmed her suspicion that this was a deliberate ploy.

😂

**Oh dear**

**So I can’t play the amnesia card any more, when I’m trying to persuade you to be kind towards yourself?**

Rolling her eyes, she sent back the emoji equivalent…

🙄

…followed by some gentle scolding:

_It’s not a “card”, Deels, it’s a very valid reason why you ask for clarification on things. But you are sneaky to deploy it now, yes._

In answer, yet another joke arrived.

**Hmm. Okay. I do like card games though. And my favourite one is called “Patience”.**

She giggled in spite of herself, and sent back:

😂

_I expect you think you’re very clever – and to be fair, although many girls at school quipped things like that, none of them ever used it as a euphemism. So I’ll let you have it._

**Oh**

**Diolch, cariad, I’m flattered. Well, I’d quite like to play “Patience” now, but for that I need you to try to stop thinking and just feel. Because you’ve been aching for this for ages, and deserve to feel good, if you can let yourself relax enough. Do you think you can manage that for me?**

She squirmed again. Apparently the questions were still having an effect. So she responded in the affirmative:

_I can certainly try._

**That’s all I ask.**

She grinned, and was about to send a message of gratitude, but a second text popped up.

**Now, where was I? Ah, yes, giving some attention to your chest. How would you feel about the occasional squeeze, annwyl?**

She squirmed, whimpering, then chuckled, and replied:

_Very receptive, apparently, if the way my body’s behaving is anything to go by._

**Oh good. So if I paired that with my other hand drifting downwards a fair bit, you’d be happy?**

The phrasing was so subtle, but it still made her breath catch, and she felt her legs part slightly…along with an intensifying of the other sensation of which she had been acutely aware all evening. So she just sent a single word:

_Please_

**Okay, tracing my hand over your tummy, then lower, and lower…until I reach the waistband of your pyjamas, and then checking in before I go any further. May I?**

She was beginning to pant, now, but managed to send three texts:

_Yes_

_Please_

_Deels_

**Okay, Pats, cariad. I’m slipping my hand into your pyjama bottoms, now, and just hovering over you for a moment. Does that feel all right?**

She shut her eyes briefly, to focus on the sensations, and was surprised by the sense of warmth. It was so palpable it made her whimper again, and all she could manage to text was:

💚💚💚💚

**Good… shall we find out how it feels if I stroke your curls a little, then, annwyl?**

Her whimper grew to a moan as she felt her legs part further and sent:

💚💚💚💚💚

**Mmm good, you’re doing so well. And you know what else?**

She was surprised enough to be able to type and ask:

_What?_

**You feel amazing.**

Oh.

Wow.

Well, if she’d had any doubts about whether she would be aroused by now, they all vanished with that affirmation. It seemed to go right between her legs, and she made her fingers function enough to send:

_Oh my God Deels. I just got so…_

She trailed off, embarrassed about typing the word, but thankfully Delia was more than happy to interpret.

**Wet, Pats?**

She blushed, moaning, but managed to type:

_Yes._

**I know, I can feel.**

She raised a brow and shot back:

_You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?_

**Yes**

**Are you?**

She nodded hurriedly, then realised she couldn’t be seen, and laughed, sending:

_Yes. I’m just impressed by your commitment to staying in character._

**Anything to make this easier for you.**

She laughed again, and the movement rippling through her abdomen activated another response, which turned her joy into a moan. The shift made her gasp and squirm – and somehow gave her the courage to send a request, if awkwardly phrased and split over three texts:

_Do you think you could stroke somewhere else, then?_

_Somewhere nearby?_

_Please?_

**Mmmm**

**Da iawn for asking, cariad. Well done.**

**Of course**

**I’ll just part you slightly, then, shall I? And find that perfect spot?**

She moaned yet again at the two questions, and sent:

_Oh God yes yes yes please_

**That’s it, Pats, you just relax and let your body do its work. Can you feel me, annwyl, hmmm? Stroking you there so gently. Does it feel good?**

The gasp she let out was still slightly from disbelief; she _could_ actually feel it and surely that must be impossible!? But it was mostly from her now steadily building desire, so she texted back…

 _Fuck yes so good_

…being too far gone to care about her choice of words or the fact she’d apparently lost all ability to punctuate her sentences.

**Hehehe good. I think I might switch things up a bit now, and give you some circles – would that be okay?**

She wasn’t entirely sure what “circles” meant, but she trusted Delia enough to decide they must be something good, so sent:

💚

**All right, then, I’m moving my fingers over you in a circling motion, starting with lazy, soft circles. Is that nice?**

Oh.

Well.

 _Definitely_ good.

She felt her legs twitch suddenly at the thought, and nearly dropped her phone, but was determined to give the requested feedback:

_SO nice._

**Mmmm**

**Okay sweetheart**

**I’ll just speed up a little. How about that?**

Her hips jumped involuntarily as she read the third text, so she resorted to emojis:

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

**Well**

**Aren’t you ENTHUSIASTIC?**

**In that case, I think it’s time for some more circles, don’t you? Faster, tighter, and a little bit harder? I’ll still be gentle though.**

Her hips jumped again and she moaned, nevertheless managing to make her needs known:

_Deels_

_Please_

_I’m getting so…_

She trailed off, still shy, but Delia still seemed happy to complete her sentences.

**Close, Pats?**

She nodded and giggled, then even the small movement made her moan, so she stuck to simple responses:

💚💚💚💚💚

**Okay, cariad, you’re okay. I’ve got you. You just concentrate on how you’re feeling right now and we’ll get you there together. Can you focus on my fingers?**

She moaned, then panted, squirming at the now persistent pressure between her legs, but felt doubtful, so sent:

_Yes_

_But_

_I don’t think_

**I DO. You can do this, Pats. You deserve it. And I’m going to be there as you get over the edge, stroking you with one hand and holding you in a gentle cwtch with the other. Okay, annwyl?**

Reassured, she willed her mind to relax, even as her muscles were beginning to tense; and she replied with a single word:

_Okay_

**Good, that’s it. Now, can you feel my fingers circling faster, and faster, and faster?**

Oh God.

She could.

Yes.

_Yes yes yes yes_

Her mouth opened wide, and she now threw her phone onto the mattress beside her instinctively clamping both her hands over her lips to stifle what she thought might be a very loud moan. Instead, though, her head sank further back into her pillow, and all that appeared against her palms was a short, sharp, exhalation as she felt her legs reflexively extend…

…after which the pressure tipped into relief and she was overcome with nothing short of complete and utter physical bliss.

Then the emotional overwhelm arrived, and she lay still while unexpected but not unsurprising tears streamed down her cheeks. So still and quiet that, for several moments, she didn’t even think to check her phone. Then it buzzed with a much more regular rhythm than it would with a text.

Shit.

She scrambled to pick it up again, and slid her shaking hand across the screen to accept the FaceTime call.

She was greeted by a very concerned Delia. ‘Pats? Are you okay?’

Wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand, she nodded vehemently, buying a bit of time to find the words. Eventually, knowing she needed to speak, she merely said, ‘Yes. Very okay,’ with a rather ridiculously high pitched giggle. Then, though, when her favourite face seemed unconvinced, she added, ‘Yes. Deels, I just…’ before trailing off, blushing.

She watched as the Welshwoman began to understand, and blushed, too. ‘Really?’

‘Really. It was small, but it definitely happened.’ 

Delia giggled at her phrasing, then grew thoughtful. ‘So it actually _does_ work,’ she whispered in apparent amazement.

She opened her mouth in surprise of her own, stuttering, ‘You mean you weren’t _sure_ it would?’

Brown hair shook as blue eyes met hers shyly. ‘Nope. It’s not like I’ve had anyone to practice with, is it?’

She felt herself blushing even deeper. ‘No, I guess not.’

Giggling again, Delia returned to what sounded like reassurance. ‘I’m glad it _did_ , though, for your sake.’

But, whatever the impetus behind the statement might’ve been, it made her feel guilty. ‘Gosh, Deels, what about you?’ she asked, inwardly berating her carelessness.

Brown hair shook a second time. ‘It’s okay, Pats. I’m too tired now, and anyway, tonight was about you.’

It was her turn to be unconvinced. ‘Sure?’ Brown hair nodded. ‘Well, may I try helping you tomorrow, maybe?’

The younger woman grinned at the second question. ‘Someone’s eager,’ she said, with a husky laugh. ‘All right, cariad. It’s a date. But right now all I want is to cwtch you as we fall asleep.’

She found herself grinning and laughing too. ‘That can certainly be arranged,’ she replied, moving her arm with a flourish as she propped her phone up on her bedside table and stretched to put it on charge. ‘Sort of,’ she clarified with a wink once it was settled.

Then they both cracked up at the ridiculousness of the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics for 'In the Cold, Cold Night': https://youtu.be/aUW8WCthKw8
> 
> With special thanks as always to Am_Shady for being a fab beta and putting up with my anxious brain, in terms of the current global situation as well as the subject matter of this chapter.
> 
> I really hope it read okay.


	8. Delia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Delia has an emotionally difficult day, Patsy comforts her by returning the attentions of the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since my last update - with lockdown the subject got close to home and I felt a bit weird about writing it, but Shady's helped me to feel that this chapter's okay.
> 
> Note that it's 'M', although I've kept things vague again.
> 
> There's also discussion of some plot points from _Buffy_. I've tried to keep them vague as well, because this is a different fandom, but just be aware.

**Oh Pats. I know you’re probably not even on your way yet, never mind nearly home, but… Oh Pats.**

Delia was well aware the length of the text – and the effort she’d put into typing it – meant it could in no way be considered rash. But she still felt guilty after sending it. Like she had when she texted her Tad, because that’d made him call her.

Oh God.

_Patsy_ would probably call her, and she wasn’t sure she could cope with that. They’d last chatted over her lunch break, which wasn’t that long ago really, but so much had happened in the hours since. Although…wasn’t that why she’d texted? Calming herself with the thought that it wasn’t the _sending_ of the text that was the issue but the _content_ , she felt confident enough in her dexterity that she figured she could fix it.

But she hadn’t counted on Patsy’s dexterity being _better_ , clearly, because she was interrupted in her plan by a buzz. Just one, thankfully, so it was a text rather than a call – if a long message.

_Yes Deels? Are you okay? I’m actually almost home, in a cab again. Julienne let me off early. I think she and Phyllis are conspiring because I complained about being “forced” to take full days’ worth of leave. But I didn’t know until it happened, and it’s cold, so I’ve spent most of the journey snuggled in my scarf with my hands in my coat pockets. I was thinking of you, though, and it seems you read my mind. Are you doing okay?_

She giggled at the essay, and sent at first…

**That’s given me such an adorable image of you.**

…before typing out a fuller reply:

**And I’m glad they’re still being gently supportive. Not just because it gives me extra time with you in the evenings. But that is a bonus. Especially tonight**

She cut herself off, but then realised ending like that was too vague, so went back to where she’d started, adding:

**Oh Pats I’m so sad.**

_Oh darling, what is it?_

She shouldn’t’ve been surprised the question arrived so quickly, but she was. And grateful, too, so she responded just as fast, with a single word:

**“Buffy”**

_Deels! I told you to wait to watch Season Five!_

She giggled again and sent:

**I did, don’t worry. I can’t watch that many episodes, even when I’ve nothing else to do. But I remembered.**

_Oh!_

_Well…I guess that’s sort of good?_

She grinned at the punctuation, but then teared up again for what seemed like the twentieth time in as many minutes, so replied as succinctly as she could by sending several brief texts:

**It is**

**But**

**Glory**

**And**

**Tara**

**And**

**Her memory**

She was a little worried they might be too disjointed to allow for comprehension – especially if they were read individually – but Patsy was apparently living up to her name, because a full sixty seconds elapsed between the last one being sent and a response arriving.

_Oh love. I’m so sorry. This is another case of your mind pre-empting our chats, and I hate that it’s hurting you. I’ll be home in under five minutes, and it should take me only another five to dash upstairs and get changed out of my uniform. Then I’ll call you right away – if you’re comfortable talking, that is?_

The thoughtfulness of the text made her smile through her tears. Not only was it non-judgemental, but her needs were being attended to in every way; giving her the confidence that she could at least control the effects of their conversation, even when everything else seemed so in flux. And that allowed her to answer:

**You’re so lovely. Diolch, Pats. You’ve thought of everything. I am comfortable talking – and I think it’ll probably help to see your face.**

The next text took what seemed like six rather than sixty seconds to appear.

_Of course, Deels. And you don’t have to thank me. This is what I’m here for._

She barked out a laugh at that, and shot back:

**Hypocrite** 😉

_Fair point_ 😛

She giggled slightly more quietly at that reply, and made sure her own was gentler, too:

**Da iawn, annwyl. That’s progress.**

_What – acknowledging my own difficulty receiving help? It’s just that I find it easier to give._

She guessed that was a sentiment she could appreciate, but was still feeling awkward enough to need to deflect – and the wording gave her a convenient, if a bit crude, way to respond with humour:

**Oh, so my girl’s a top, is she?**

She hit send the moment the question mark was typed, so she didn’t have a chance to back out, then bit her lip while waiting for an answer. Having expected it to take a while, she was shocked when a text popped up almost immediately – until she saw it was just an emoji.

😮

She was sort of impressed but also confused. So, staring at it to try and work out the tone, she hoped it would be followed by another message, but the three dots didn’t appear…

…and didn’t appear…

…and didn’t appear.

With her otherwise fragile emotions, she half expected the absence of a reply to send her into a spiral of anxiety (as so often happened at the moment). However, the newer memories about one of her favourite fictional characters had really thrown her; and had apparently shifted all her usual responses as well. Perhaps they had pushed her so much into an existential crisis that anything more mundane seemed insignificant in comparison. Whatever it was, she was proud she managed not to worry, instead remembering to rationalise the fact that Patsy had said she was very nearly home and would likely be letting herself in her front door.

Or something.

Something _else_ that’d make holding her phone impractical. But she wasn’t going to think about _that_. Not just yet, anyway. First her favourite person had promised to help her work through what she was feeling… even though she was hardly sure where to start. But that was why a conversation would be easier than texting. And that thought gave her the courage to be patient while there wasn’t a reply. Eventually, after just under ten minutes, she was proved right – when her phone lit up with an incoming FaceTime call. Answering as quickly as she could, she was greeted by the sight of a very flushed Patsy.

‘Hello, Deels, darling,’ the older woman said, the pauses between each of the three words longer than they would usually be as she apparently fought to catch her breath. Delia was about to reply with a “hello” in return, but her fiancée – _former_ fiancée? They hadn’t actually discussed that word since the _big_ discussion when Patsy had sat on the bench in Hyde Park. Anyway – her _significant other_ had something more to say. ‘I feel like I haven’t moved that fast in a long time. I didn’t want to leave you hanging completely, so I sent the emoji, but Jeanie was just pulling to a stop and I needed to pay her. That’s the cabbie; she drove me yesterday and now I think she’s making a habit of being around the hospital when I might need to get home. I’m half expecting her to ask for a breakdown of my schedule when I next see her. Anyway, after that, I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer than I had to in case you thought I was cross –’

She broke off, giggling, and Delia used the cover of the noise to let out a sigh of relief. ‘So you _aren’t_ cross? I didn’t go too far?’

‘No!’ Patsy insisted, her face flushing even further in a pretty adorable way. ‘I mean – maybe a bit – I didn’t really have any words. Which is why I…’

‘…sent the emoji,’ Delia supplied, grinning. ‘I know. I was impressed. Even if it did make me worry about tone.’

She watched as Patsy grimaced. ‘Sorry. I just didn’t know what to say. I don’t really have enough experience in that – area – to know _what_ I am, or what I like. Except being with you, of course.’ The grimace turned to a sheepish grin. ‘Not that you’ll particularly want to talk about any of that now, I imagine –’

She jumped in to interrupt before the sentence could end. ‘Oh no – if _you’re_ up for it, I’d really appreciate the distraction.’

Patsy’s eyes went round. ‘Oh. You mean you want… sympathy sex?’

She giggled at the hesitation over the words. ‘Maybe call it comfort sex instead, but yes please, if you don’t mind. After we’ve talked, that is.’

‘Of course, Deels darling, I’m here to help however you need.’

Hearing the sincerity in her favourite voice, she had a hard time not pressing her lips to the screen of her phone in an effort to express her thanks with a kiss. But she settled for a beaming smile as she said, ‘Diolch, Pats.’ Then, pausing for a deep breath, she at last felt able to verbalise her thoughts. ‘It’s just…well, I know the first time I watched it, it wouldn’t’ve been nearly so close to home – and the bits that bothered me back then were either before or after that episode. Obviously I felt awful about Tara’s arc in Season Five but _now_ I feel like I’ve never related to anyone more than I relate to her character. Is that weird? I mean, she’s fictional. It’s not like I can arrange to meet up with her or anything, is it?’

Patsy chuckled. ‘Well, yes, I’m afraid that would be one thing I’d find hard to facilitate. But I don’t think it’s weird. I rather think that’s the _point_ of fictional characters. And being able to relate to others’ experiences is certainly important. So, as you’ve mentioned meeting up with people, I’m now wondering if you’ve had any contact with the charity Headway since your accident?’

She groaned, then felt bad, and explained. ‘Sori, annwyl. I have, yes. Their East London branch actually has a great team connected to the services available at the hospital. It’s all a bit hazy, but I _do_ remember Mam didn’t want me to find out too much about it because we were coming home.’

It sounded like Patsy snorted, although she couldn’t be sure. ‘You could still’ve had support while you were there,’ she said, ‘And there’s even a Pembrokeshire branch. They’d’ve referred you on from East London.’

‘I know,’ she responded, nodding along to the first part of the older woman’s point, then feeling very young indeed when she registered the second. ‘Wait – what?’

She watched as red hair nodded too. ‘Mhmm, there are actually groups all over Wales. I researched it as a way of feeling vaguely connected to you before we were back in touch.’

That made her a bit breathless. ‘You did that…for me?’ she asked, completely flabbergasted, and then tried to cover by going on. ‘Even though you might never have been able to pass on the information?’

‘Of course,’ came the immediate answer, clear and sure despite the slightly dodgy connection. ‘I’d do _anything_ for you, Deels.’

She blinked once, amazed, and then promptly burst into tears – although she somehow had the wherewithal to keep the sound quiet. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ she replied when she had at last stopped crying.

‘Yes you do.’ Patsy’s voice was calm but firm. ‘You wouldn’t let _me_ get away with saying that sort of thing. But I don’t think your post-Buffy brain is very receptive to talk tonight, so, if you still want me to, I’d like to persuade you through touch. Of a sort, anyway,’ she clarified, giggling.

She giggled too, in spite of herself, and nodded. Then she had an embarrassing thought. ‘But I’m all snotty!’

Red hair shook gently onscreen. ‘You’ve been crying, yes, but that means I can kiss away your tears.’ Patsy paused, apparently waiting for a smile, so she obliged as her sweetheart continued speaking. ‘Besides, we don’t do this on video.’

Her smile shifted into a pout at the addition – and its deadpan tone. ‘ _Oi!_ So you _do_ think I look gross.’

Red hair shook a second time. ‘ _No, Deels_ – I’m trying to make you _laugh_. You always look lovely to me.’

She observed the kind glare on her favourite face, its edges softened by a lopsided grin, and blushed. ‘Oh,’ she said, suddenly feeling shy for a very different reason.

Patsy seemed to understand, though, because she started to offer some more guidance. ‘Now, annwyl, why don’t we say goodbye briefly so you can get yourself settled? Then you can let me know when you’re tucked up and I’ll come join you.’

Her eyes went very round at these words. ‘And you told me _I_ had an impressive commitment to staying in character. Also, ffyc it’s hot when you speak Welsh.’

She watched Patsy’s eyebrows raise, and could’ve sworn her face got pink, but her composure was maintained as she went on. ‘Oh, is that so? Do you think it’d be “hot” via text, too?’

She almost gulped at the husky tone. ‘Probably,’ she murmured inanely, knowing her own blush had just got more intense.

The air was lightened slightly as Patsy laughed – the sound much less seductive now, but no less endearing. ‘Well that’s a relief.’

She laughed along. ‘Oh cariad, I’m just as new to this as you are, so I don’t really know what I like either – other than being with you.’

It was apparently Patsy’s turn to pout. ‘You definitely haven’t lost your ability to throw my own words back at me,’ she said, sounding a little annoyed, but then there was a playful wink.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Damn, you caught me,’ she quipped, winking back. ‘So, on that note, I’m going to scuttle off and think about what I’ve done. Text in a bit?’

There was an eye-roll in return, but it was followed by a nod. ‘Text in a bit.’

Grinning, she ended the call, and then giggled – because she was technically _already_ settled in bed. But she decided she needed to do something about the state of her face, regardless of whether they could still see each other. So she carefully slipped out from beneath her covers, and padded the short distance along the upstairs corridor from her bedroom to the bathroom. She was glad, as she and Huw had been before, that the loud volume of the TV downstairs provided a cover for the movement of her bare feet. It might be ridiculous to think that her mother’s hearing was that efficient, but she wouldn’t’ve put it past her for her head to pop up just below the bannister at the smallest noise of a shuffle. Having reached the bathroom without interruption, however, she made the most of her time there: first using the loo, and washing her hands, then finally splashing her face. Satisfied she was much more presentable, even if only for herself, she retraced her steps; stopping at the airing cupboard on the way to retrieve a fresh pillowcase. Her Mam would probably – no, definitely! – have a go when she noticed, but she didn’t particularly care. She reasoned soggy fabric was no more comfortable in sex than a crusty face would be. No matter what Patsy said about wanting to kiss away her tears. So she changed her pillowcase, chucking the old one somewhat unceremoniously into the dirty clothes basket by her door. They used to have only one in the house (in the bathroom) but when she’d come home there was another, brand new, in her room. Apparently to save her the effort. She’d been angry, then, at what she considered unnecessary preferential treatment. Now, though, she was glad – and not just because it aided her in being stealthy at times like these. Once the new case was on, and smooth, she hopped back into bed to tap out a text:

**Ready.**

_That was quick! And here I was setting up some mood music for you._

She rolled her eyes, sending back:

**Not THAT kind of ready, you fool** 😂

_I was gonna say._

_But no, I know, I’m just teasing._

She giggled at Patsy’s almost unconscious need to clarify everything. It was something they’d have to work on. Like apologies. But for now she just continued the conversation:

**I know you are, silly. But I’m intrigued, what’s your mood music choice?**

_Oh._

_This:_ <https://youtu.be/qVaueJZBfHs>

_Listen to the whole song, please?_

**Okay**

Hiding herself and her phone under her covers, she clicked on the link as instructed, hearing the start of soft guitar chords and a slightly husky, folky voice:

‘ _It isn’t very difficult to see why  
You are the way you are  
Doesn’t take a genius to realise  
That sometimes life is hard  
It’s gonna take time  
But you’ll just have to wait  
You’re gonna be fine  
But in the meantime  
  
Come over here lady  
Let me wipe your tears away  
Come a little nearer baby  
Coz you’ll heal over  
Heal over  
Heal over someday  
  
And I don’t wanna hear you tell yourself  
That these feelings are in the past  
You know it doesn’t mean they’re off the shelf  
Because pain is built to last  
Everybody sails alone  
But we can travel side by side  
Even if you fail  
You know that no one really minds  
  
_

_Come over here lady  
Let me wipe your tears away  
Come a little nearer baby  
Coz you’ll heal over  
Heal over  
Heal over someday  
  
Don’t hold on but don’t let go  
I know it’s so hard  
You’ve got to try to trust yourself  
I know it’s so hard, so hard  
  
Come over here lady  
Let me wipe your tears away  
Come a little nearer baby  
Coz you’ll heal over, heal over, heal over someday_’

Once the song ended, she was almost wishing she _hadn’t_ changed her pillowcase, because the new one was well on its way to getting soggy. But she couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it now. And besides, Patsy would be waiting for response. So, stretching over to her bedside table for a tissue, she wiped her own eyes, and asked a question that’d been niggling at her since the opening chord:

**Didn’t I used to make you listen to that, cariad? It’s KT Tunstall, right?**

_It is, yes. And you did. You aren’t the only one who can repurpose comfort tactics, you know._

She giggled now and shot back:

**I guess I’m not, no.** 😂 **You got your wish, though, because your loveliness has made me cry again.**

_Oh gosh no, I never want you to cry on my account._

Patsy’s sincerity was evident even through text, so she felt bad for teasing and sent:

**It’s okay, they’re happy tears.**

_May I kiss them away, in that case?_

**You may.**

Sending that, she giggled again, struck by how polite the beginning was in comparison to her own clumsiness the day before. But both, she realised, couldn’t be more in character for each of them. And that made her feel better able to be in the moment.

_All right, annwyl._

She whimpered at the use of her first language and, feeling she ought to highlight that it _did_ work over text, interrupted:

**Just so you know, the occasional Welsh word is proving very effective so far.**

_Oh good. I’ll continue with some cusan, then, shall I?_

She whimpered again and offered additional feedback:

**Duw, questions are good too.**

_Noted. Would you mind if I kissed your hair?_

She whimpered a third time, the platonic gesture somehow incredibly charged with completely different emotions, sending back:

**Please, Pats.**

Patsy could apparently read the desperation in the short phrase.

_Bloody hell, Deels, I’ve barely touched you._

**Hey**

**I thought we weren’t judging**

_Oh I’m not_

_At all_

_I’m impressed_

_But I guess you’ve been wanting this – and waiting for it – even longer than I have. Four years, really._

She giggled, feeling herself blush, and managed to put together what was hopefully a suitably deadpan reply:

**I don’t think I was quite that eager. Maybe three-and-a-half?**

_Hahaha. For that humour you get to fast-forward a little. I’m kissing your lips now, okay?_

**Mmmmyes**

She rolled her eyes at her own responses. She could hardly focus on breathing, let alone typing. And that seemed ridiculous. But Patsy, as ever, was more compassionate and practical.

_You can use your emojis if it’s easier, remember?_

Her eyes went wide, now, because she’d forgotten they’d set up a shorthand – but she was very glad of it now. So, instead of sending one immediately, she texted two words:

**Diolch, Pats.**

_Croeso, Deels._

She grinned at their exchange as three dots popped up and stuck around, suggesting a longer text would arrive shortly. And it did.

_Now, to give you a moment to breathe, I’m letting my kisses travel from your lips to your neck…because our mutual nursing knowledge tells me there’s a pulse point there that might like some attention. Would you agree?_

She found herself panting quite heavily at the mere thought, so just sent back:

💛💛

_Oh good. And if I were to switch between kisses and the occasional lick?_

She moaned softly now, apparently way past whimpering, and decided simply to send:

💛💛💛

_Mmmm okay. How about if I graze my teeth gently over the skin there?_

Oh God.

She felt unexpectedly vocal, and needed to let her lover know:

**Duw, Pats**

💛💛💛💛💛

Her effort seemed to be appreciated, because three dots appeared for a while again. She squirmed as she waited, hoping the gap would be worth it…

_Good, Deels. That’s it. You’re doing wonderfully, telling me how all of this feels. But I think I need to do some feeling myself now. So, while I keep kissing you there, I’m going to follow your example from yesterday and slip one hand under your pyjama top. I just want to trace my fingers over the soft skin of your tummy and sides. Is that all right?_

Okay.

Wow.

The gap was _absolutely_ worth it.

But she needed to formulate some sort of answer. Which she did, eventually – deciding on…

**Ffyc, Pats**

…followed by:

💛

_Oh, only one? Well, I suppose I did get some Welsh, too, but I think we can do better than that, don’t you? How many hearts is a squeeze slightly higher up worth, hmmm?_

The combination of the three questions and their lightly teasing tone was almost electric, and she felt her legs part as the area between them began to pulse. That meant all she _could_ do was send a string of hearts, but she didn’t think Patsy would mind much. So she illustrated her current state with:

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

_Goodness, that’s emphatic! Well then, dare I ask what the value of my other hand meandering its way down your body might be?_

She nearly dropped her phone, completely overwhelmed by how such vague phrasing could have such a specific effect, as her legs parted further of their own accord. But she managed to do her bit, sending:

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

_Wow. Okay. I’m guessing that means you won’t mind me dipping down below your waistband, then?_

The question was another which made her desperate to send a fuller response, so she forced her hands into proper function, replying:

**Os gweli di’n dda, Pats.**

_Diolch for the enthusiastic consent, Deels._

She giggled and, as she was back in the rhythm of typing, quipped:

**That a bit beyond your vocabulary, is it?**

_Oi. I’m rusty. And multitasking is hard._ 😉

She roared with laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, then texted back once she was sure she could be trusted not to howl again:

**Dim problem. You know I think code-switching is cute.**

_I think YOU'RE cute._

She giggled much more quietly and shot back:

**Smooth.**

_Thanks. On that note, is my stroking smooth enough?_

She gulped as she read that, but kept her hand steady to type:

**Iesu mawr, Patience, that’s taking code-switching to a whole new level. Give a woman some warning.**

_Give ME some credit, Delia – I’m only talking about your curls._

Oh. And God that was hot. So hot that she had to split her reply into three texts:

**Okay**

**Sori**

**Daliwch ati**

She suspected the last one might come across as provocative, and she was right…

_Cheek._

…although the grump was swiftly followed by assent.

_But you know I can’t resist you being cheeky, so I will indeed keep going. I’m just parting you, now, all right?_

She moaned, aware of the pulsing between her legs growing the very second she read the words. So she sent:

💛💛💛💛💛

_Good, Deels, that’s it. Can you feel my fingers stroking you, hmmm? Lazy circles, like you did for me?_

💛💛💛💛💛

Now she could feel a steady thrum building in her body, so she wanted it to stay like that for a bit. But that meant she needed more than hearts:

**Stay there, Pats. Please. Yn araf.**

_All right, darling. There’s no rush. You just tell me when you’re ready to speed up._

She shook her head reflexively as she read, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. It felt incredibly bold of her to ask, or even to contemplate it, particularly when this was essentially her first time and they weren’t even actually…well… but her body was guiding her and something gave her the courage to say…

**No I need**

…even though she couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

Thankfully Patsy was prepared to be patient.

_What, cariad? Tell me. Whatever you need._

Giggling at the Welsh and how it somehow grounded her, she sent:

**More**

_What?_

_Oh_

_You mean…?_

She giggled again at the gradually dawning realisation, responding:

**Yes please**

_All right. I’m slipping in gently and letting you adjust. Just one, at first, and then two._

She was so struck by the physical feeling of exactly what Patsy had said that she nearly forgot to reply at all. But then she remembered and resorted to giving a transcript of her internal monologue:

**Duw**

**Duw**

**Diolch**

**Duw**

_Hahaha. Told you you only had to ask. Am I okay to move a bit?_

Words seemed to disappear when she read that question, so she went back to emojis:

💛💛💛💛💛

_In and out?_

Fuck.

**Ffyc**

**Ffyc**

**Ffyc**

_Good, Deels. God you feel so good. You were so wet for me…_

Well she could certainly vouch for that, she thought with a chuckle while she waited for the continuation of the trailed-off message.

_And this is just as amazing. I can feel you’re so ready, so close, and I want to help you get there. So I’m going to make a curling motion, all right?_

She really wanted to be able to respond to that, but it seemed her body had other ideas – because her hips bucked so suddenly that her phone slipped out of her grasp. She had half a mind to grab it, had the _other_ half of her mind not been preoccupied by… _other things_. So, instead of struggling to move, she surrendered to the waves of feeling suddenly washing over her. It hit much quicker than she expected, and would probably be over almost as fast, but it was _there_. And that was thrilling. However long it lasted. So she lay still, happy to be with her thoughts…until she heard a buzzing from further down the bed.

Then she wanted nothing except to talk to her favourite person.

Once she successfully found her phone and answered the call, she couldn’t help giggling at the lines of worry creasing Patsy’s forehead. Lines that somehow made it more perfect. ‘Helo, cariad,’ she said quietly.

‘Deels, are you okay?’

‘Yes,’ she promised, still giggling. ‘Sorry – this sounds like yesterday’s conversation… I just…’

The worry lines morphed immediately into evidence of a grin. ‘Oh. Really?’

She nodded, grinning too. ‘Mhmm.’

‘Wow,’ Patsy breathed. ‘And was it okay?’

‘Lovely,’ she confirmed, before giggling again at a slightly odd thought. ‘I’ve not felt anything _exactly_ like it before, but…well, is it weird to say it was a bit like a nice sort of seizure?’

The redhead hummed. ‘I mean…I’ve not had direct experience of one, but the broad comparison makes a kind of sense.’

She laughed, relieved again that she hadn’t been judged, and then made a joke to lighten the tone. ‘I prefer orgasms.’

Patsy giggled in return. ‘Well that _definitely_ makes sense.’

She beamed. ‘It means so much that you don’t mind my humour. On the subject of direct experience, though, I’ve decided I’m going to ask about being referred to Headway at my appointment on Friday.’

She’d thought this would be taken as positive, so was very confused when Patsy’s face fell. But an explanation was already being offered. ‘ _But Deels!_ If you’re coming to London on Friday, we could’ve waited – I’m so sorry – I completely lost track of dates – I feel bad now…’

She shook her head comfortingly. ‘No no. I wanted it this way. We needed to be sure it’d work for both of us. Even if I get a good report, we’ll still be long-distance for a while. And we’re staying with my aunt in Hornsey, anyway, so unless I insist you give me a tour of the supply cupboard we’ll hardly have a chance to touch each other.’

She hoped the reference to their student days would inspire a laugh, and she was right. Patsy shook her head, now; blushing. ‘You really are incorrigible. But I’m not complaining. And I have physical proximity to look forward to in a few days as well. What bliss that will be!’

She nodded, and felt sure she was grinning like the eager fresher she’d been when they first met. She couldn’t’ve put it better herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - I hope it was worth the wait! And hopefully it's clear where the next chapter is set, haha. But no spoilers.
> 
> Stay safe and well.


	9. Patsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Delia's appointments means that they get to spend some time in the same space at last. With a lot of other people, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! Sorry this one took so long. It's the chapter that relies the most on a lot of different canon references, and I wanted to get the balance right. Also, the world (and life) is a bit hectic at the moment...

‘Patsy.’

‘What?’ she asked, knowing she was snappy, but frustrated at being interrupted for the fifth time in as many minutes. ‘You know clearing out my nhs.net inbox is my next preference for distraction when it’s a slow day and the supply cupboard’s already been done.’

She heard her best friend sigh, and at last lifted her gaze from the computer to apologise, but a comforting hand landed on her shoulder. ‘I know, sweetie, and I also know I was mean and told Delia I’d be taking your phone _and_ your fob watch away today so you couldn’t reflexively check them. But I wasn’t planning on making you _completely_ lose track of time.’

She giggled, her plan busted. ‘You didn’t, Trix. There’s a clock on the opposite wall, as well as one behind me. I only have to swivel my chair halfway to be able to see both at once. And this desktop’s falling to bits, but it’s still got a clock in the bottom right corner.’

She watched the blonde raise her eyebrows. ‘You’re ridiculous. You didn’t have to do all that, you know, you could’ve just asked for your phone.’

‘And miss out on the satisfaction of having no unread work emails before I’m off shift?’ she quipped with a smirk.

She’d forgotten Trixie’s hand was on her shoulder – until a pretty hard slap made her jump. ‘What was that for?!’

‘Deflection. It’s the response Delia would have but, as she’s not quite here, I thought I’d do it for her,’ the blonde replied in a deliberately singsong voice.

Grumbling, she swatted Trixie’s hand away to rub at the sore spot, answering in a deadpan whisper, ‘You’re such a fucking hypocrite, you know that, Franklin?’ and swivelling so she was in the optimum position for a playful shove but could quickly return to facing the computer afterwards.

She was delighted by the shriek the action inspired, followed by her colleague bending down and hissing in her ear, ‘Language in front of the patients, Mount,’ before she apparently heard her own words and remembered the importance of (outwardly) professional composure. ‘I just thought you might prefer not to be hiding behind a screen when she comes in.’

She chuckled at the fact that her strategy hadn’t been completely understood. ‘Oh, but Trix, that’s _why_ I wanted to be here – I can see the ward doors and jump up the second…’ She trailed off as three people entered exactly as she described. Three people she recognised better than almost anyone left in the world but she’d thought, until recently, she might never see again.

But she was somehow stuck to her seat – at least it seemed that way – and she could only grin. Even when her best friend kicked her (gently this time) under the desk. After some seconds had elapsed, she was still staring, and stuck, and she heard Trixie sigh a lot louder than she had earlier on. The noise brought her back to her senses, and she finally found the strength to get to her feet. Before she could engage properly with the newcomers, though, the blonde nurse pushed past her (and out in front of the desk), calling, ‘Everyone! Delia and her parents are here!’

She watched the brunette in question blush and, feeling her own face grow hot, tried to get closer to her and her parents in the time it took her colleagues to gather. But Trixie must’ve organised them in advance, because they formed a group incredibly quickly. Admittedly, they’d all been on tenterhooks, Patsy allowed in her mind as they muscled in with grins and greetings – but not as much as she had!

Thankfully, eventually, Phyllis seemed to notice her awkwardness; which was more than Delia’s mother had, she thought ruefully. But, before she could dwell on resentment for long enough that it made her scowl, the older Northerner tutted. ‘Come on, you lot, give the poor lass some space to breathe. And Nurse Mount a look-in.’

‘Thank you,’ she said meekly, ‘although I’m not sure we get to use that title once we’re midwives.’

Phyllis just tutted again. ‘You know I think that’s ridiculous for those with dual training, which is the majority of you on this ward. And besides, your nursing registration hasn’t lapsed yet, Patsy. But regardless, you need to wish your guest a “good afternoon”.’

She blushed, and the others giggled, moving back at what now seemed like a snail’s pace. Trixie even had time to shoot a knowing smirk over her shoulder, and whisper as she walked past, ‘That’s what you get for _sabotaging_ all my efforts to be helpful, sweetie.’

She would ordinarily have rolled her eyes, but Enid was finally focusing on her, so she mustered up a grin again and searched for some vaguely coherent first words. To be directed at _Delia_ , of course. When she spoke, however, she wanted to disappear almost immediately. ‘Hi, old thing.’

Wow. Way to cement a reputation as a posh boarding school kid, Patience.

But her darling just beamed up at her, and was already pulling her in for a hug. Or a cwtch.

And it made her brave enough to repair that awful start by whispering, ‘I love you,’ in the shorter woman’s ear, not caring that her parents were right behind her.

Delia was still smiling as they broke apart, but there were tears in her eyes, and it was obvious _she_ didn’t know where to look. Then, though, her favourite face stared at… her rainbow lanyard? ‘I like this, I do,’ came the soft West Wales lilt Patsy had so longed to hear in person, and the extra emphasis made it even more adorable. Despite the fact that she was now even more _embarrassed_ , because she’d forgotten for a moment that she’d found the courage to wear it. It was a deliberate choice, to amuse Delia and rattle Enid, but now they were actually _in front of her_ it was more real. And _terrifying_.

Yet it seemed Trixie had forgiven her and was happy to come to the rescue, because, before she opened her mouth, her best friend answered in possibly the most confident tone she’d ever heard. ‘Yes, they’re lovely, aren’t they? It took Patsy a while to warm up to the idea, much to your annoyance, actually. But I guess the excitement of you visiting was the incentive she needed to bring hers out of the locker at last. Yours is in there too, by the way. We wanted to keep them safe together.’

Oh. Perhaps not quite to the rescue.

In fact she felt rather like _she_ ought to go hide in her locker. But it was a rather impressive statement. It also gave her something else to say, in a similar vein, so she grinned – and patted her pockets. ‘Well, it _was_ in my locker,’ she clarified, finishing with a flourish once she found what she wanted, ‘but now it’s right here!’

Delia gasped as a matching lanyard was placed around her neck, and then again as she registered its weight. ‘My badge?’ she asked softly.

Patsy wanted to kiss her bewilderment away, but they were in a professional environment, so she settled for a quick, reassuring shoulder squeeze. ‘Mhmm, I thought it might help you feel more at home here today. And be a reminder that we can’t wait to have you back with the gang, whenever that’s a possibility,’ she added, the second sentence more for the benefit of Delia’s parents than the brunette herself.

Okay, not her parents. Her _mother_.

Either way, she’d borrowed a tactic from Trixie, and it felt _great_.

Then Enid apparently registered some of her triumph, because she stiffened, and was about to speak. So Patsy felt a little _less_ great. But Huw must’ve seen _her_ discomfort, since she could’ve sworn he winked, and he placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Thankfully Delia was oblivious to all of it, and just continued the conversation.

‘You’re so thoughtful. Would you look after it until we know?’

The earnest question made her relax again, and she grinned. ‘Of course. But for the rest of today, Nurse Busby’s back.’

‘Indeed she is. And she _definitely_ deserves that title, because she hasn’t switched to our side yet.’ Another voice met Patsy’s ears, and her grin got wider as Julienne joined the crowd to provide her affirmation. The whole team knew how much the day – and _Delia_ – meant to her, and they clearly wanted to be sure it went well, no matter how difficult her mother might try to make it. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Delia, and looking so well,’ the senior midwife went on. ‘Do you have any plans while you’re in London?’

Patsy was intrigued to observe that Delia appeared to feel awkward about the question. She did wonder if it was simply more general overwhelm from interaction with so many people, but then Huw rested his free hand on his _daughter’s_ shoulder, almost as though _he_ needed strength, and answered Julienne himself. ‘Well, we’d thought about going to a Welsh-language carol service, but Delia isn’t too keen, are you, bach?’

Ah.

She understood now and, watching the younger Busby woman blush, had yet another reason to curse the interference of the elder. But, before she could intervene, Trixie piped up. ‘That’s okay, sweetie, you can spend the evening with Patsy, me, and Babs. Or even the night.’

Seeing her favourite pair of eyes widen at the offer, she tried to keep her own composure, aware any sign of pleasure on her part wouldn’t go down at all well with Enid. But it seemed her colleagues still had her back, because Phyllis smiled – smiled! – saying, ‘I think that’s a most suitable suggestion!’

She held her breath for a second, flicking her gaze back to Delia, and deciding any further action or _re_ action would be – _should_ be – left to her discretion. Even so, she felt her heart leap with pride (in every sense of the word) when her darling gave a small nod and, in a louder voice than she’d managed so far, agreed. ‘So do I,’ she said, turning her head as if to challenge her mother.

Patsy held her breath again, both afraid and thrilled, as she heard Enid gasp – or, more likely, scoff.

‘I don’t know,’ the formidable Welshwoman put in, although the very briefest hesitation hinted that her resolve was slipping.

And apparently she wasn’t the only one who noticed, because Julienne had something more to say. ‘ _I_ do. We cherish our young women, Mrs Busby, and they keep us on our toes. I fear, without them, we would flounder.’ She paused while everyone murmured in approval, but then kept talking, almost as though she was conscious it might not be sufficient. ‘What’s more, as Phyllis mentioned, the three young women in question are all trained nurses – and so is Delia – so they’re more than capable of handling themselves for tonight. My senior colleagues and I have already prepared for your visit, because everyone’s been so excited about it.’

Enid still looked doubtful, and Patsy gave in to her nervous habit of biting her lip to keep herself occupied. And avoid saying something she and Delia might both regret. But the usually unflappable Mrs Busby’s voice wavered as she answered – and what she said was a surprise. ‘I’m worried about you being in a pub – because that’s where you’ll go for dinner, isn’t it? And people can be so careless.’

Patsy was nonplussed by such vulnerability, but thankfully the topic was close to Trixie’s heart, so she was saved once more. ‘Oh, I don’t drink,’ the blonde said nonchalantly, ‘and Babs isn’t fond of alcohol either. So on a Friday, if we’re all off, we grab fish and chips. Then we’ll head home and catch up before calling it a night. Oh, Delia,’ she added, suddenly grinning, ‘you can sleep in your room!’

While Delia’s eyes lit up at that, her mother’s face fell, and Patsy braced herself for whatever might come next – but Phyllis got there first. ‘That sounds like a splendid evening.’

Patsy felt almost ready to cry with gratitude at this concerted effort towards reassurance, but still wasn’t bold enough to chip in.

So, when Huw took up the argument of behalf of his daughter, she just grinned. ‘It does,’ he said, more firmly than she had thought possible, before _turning to Patsy herself_ and adding, ‘On condition we can all thank you by having you over to East Finchley for Christmas Day.’

She knew she must be blushing, however kind his smile was, but she _also_ knew she had to come up with an answer. Consequently, equally aware of Enid’s now intense _frown_ , she forced herself to smile back at Huw. Then she stole an extra moment by starting with, ‘Oh –’ The pause was intended to soften the rest, suggesting she was at least considering the invitation, until she followed it with, ‘Thank you, but I think I’m working.’

An excuse that worked three ways – it was convenient and reasonable as well as true. But she’d forgotten to account for Phyllis being so supportive.

‘Nonsense,’ she interrupted. ‘You deserve a proper holiday this Christmas. And we can easily adjust the rota with this much notice. Isn’t that right, Julienne?’

Patsy was so desperate for a way out that she was almost ready to _pray_ , if it’d show her (devoutly religious) superior that she needed help. But, while she did see her briefly touch the cross around her neck, when the older woman spoke, it was to voice her agreement with _Phyllis_. ‘Absolutely. I believe family meals are very important, Mrs Busby; as you know, too, Patsy. So we’d love to make that possible for you. It ought to be one Christmas on, one off, anyway. In my opinion.’

That’s that, then, Patsy thought wryly, finding a smile again. Which wasn’t that hard, because the idea of spending Delia’s favourite day of the year together again was actually quite exciting. Words were trickier, though, so she fell back on what she’d said earlier. Or the beginning of it. ‘Oh, thank you.’

Julienne grinned – grinned! – and said, ‘You’re welcome,’ before turning to Phyllis to add, ‘We should probably go and sort that now.’

‘Indeed,’ her deputy replied, and Patsy was amused by how enthusiastically they both rushed off.

But she got no chance to react – because Huw bubbled over with joy. ‘Excellent,’ he said, beaming; until his wife spoke again.

‘I’m still not sure about you staying over at theirs,’ she insisted to Delia, and Patsy’s tentative relaxation disappeared in an instant as Enid went on. ‘You shouldn’t sleep alone in an unfamiliar place.’

She watched Delia’s face go bright red, and knew hers must be doing the same. Both of them were saved from speaking – again! – by Trixie, though. She said breezily, ‘That’s easy. You can share with Patsy,’ the pronoun a clear indication she was addressing the younger Welshwoman and not her mother.

Something Enid apparently didn’t take kindly to; she looked completely horrified. Yet it seemed _Delia_ had found some confidence, now, because she had an answer to the unspoken disapproval. Or the start of one. ‘Mam –’

‘Don’t you “Mam” me, I’m your mother.’

Patsy had to breathe very deeply (and quietly) in order to stop herself swearing. But Delia wasn’t finished, and her retort made _her mother’s_ words sound tame in comparison. ‘ _Mam_! I know what you’re thinking. But Patsy and I’ve been together for four years already and we haven’t – not yet. So if anyone’ll be the “corrupting influence” you’re always going on about, it’s _me_! I can’t change. Even if I tried. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Ever.’

Everyone was silent after that short speech (minus Julienne and Phyllis, who couldn’t really have picked a better point to leave, Patsy thought with rueful gratitude). She was mortified, but amazed, and also impressed by the clever use of song lyrics, which was a code only she and Delia could recognise. Delia, meanwhile, looked shocked at her own audacity and a bit like she wished the floor would swallow her up. And Trixie and Barbara’s eyes were flicking between them both, as they blatantly tried to process the new dynamic – not to mention the nugget of new _information_ they’d just received. The brunette seemed quite comforted by it, which wasn’t really a surprise, so Patsy shot her a kind of sisterly, if still awkward, grin. But her blonde best friend wasn’t that easily placated, and her raised eyebrow and mouthed question – ‘You haven’t…?’ – required more than a smile.

So she shook her head, as slightly and quickly as she could, conscious that the surprise would soon wear off. She hadn’t even dared assess Enid’s response yet, she realised, stealing a glance and seeing an impassive expression.

It didn’t last much longer, though. Nor did the silence.

Because, tutting, Enid began what turned out to be a monologue of her own. ‘I’m not an unsophisticated woman. I’ve been to Jersey – and the Isle of Man. You always did things your own way. I can bear it if you upset me, I’m your Mam – and you’re a grown woman.’

And quiet hung again after that, if only for a few seconds, as Patsy sought out Delia’s gaze to ask with her eyes how they should react. They hadn’t even _vaguely_ prepared for an interaction like this, and she didn’t want to overreach her role. But the smaller woman’s face was suddenly pale and exhausted, even though there was a tinge of relief, too. So, with a gentle shoulder squeeze, she said without words that she didn’t mind intervening. Then, motivated by a tiny nod, she did. ‘Thank you, Mrs Busby.’

She was ignored.

Naturally.

But it moved the conversation along, because Enid added, still addressing Delia, ‘Just don’t do anything to make your Tad cry.’

At which point Huw coughed, visibly outraged – at least as close to outrage as Patsy reasoned it was possible for his gentle, bumbling self to get. ‘Iesu Mawr, Enid,’ he said, practically spitting, ‘don’t you dare use me to manipulate our daughter. That’s a line I won’t let you cross.’ Then, after a pause, his tone changed. ‘I’ve never been prouder, Delia, bach.’

Watching as father and daughter exchanged a significant glance, Patsy blinked away a tear. But apparently Huw noticed her response, as well, and decided to bring her into their supportive circle with a gruff warning. ‘Don’t, Patsy, cariad – you’ll set _me_ off!’

She giggled, even though his choice of endearment threatened to tip her over the edge, and muttered, ‘Sorry.’

He shook his head, grinning. ‘You just take good care of each other, iawn?’

‘Iawn, Tad, we get it!’ Delia butted in, playfully annoyed, but blushing.

Patsy figured she knew how she felt, and started searching for a way out again. Thankfully their friends had picked up the cue, because they whispered to each other, and Trixie sprinted off.

When Patsy threw her a quizzical look, Barbara went beetroot. ‘She’s just gone to check with Phyllis that we can go,’ she said, shuffling her feet.

That didn’t sound like the full story, but Patsy was so eager to have an excuse to leave, she didn’t really care. So she waited for her best friend to get back without complaining, and then focused on _not_ jumping for joy as they were waved off – a fairly simple task, because she felt bad leaving _Delia_ hanging when she, Trixie and Barbara nipped to change out of their uniforms.

But the look on the brunette’s face as she took in her outfit when she re-emerged (a green-and-black layered combo that she really hadn’t thought about at all when she threw it into her bag that morning) made all her remaining worries disappear. There was no doubt that Delia was an adult woman who was, as Julienne said earlier, more than capable of handling herself.

They both were.

They _all_ were.

So, when Trixie reappeared and said (as she did most Fridays), ‘Docklands Fish Bar?’ Patsy just joined the chorus of delighted agreement, putting aside the thought of how hard taking the journey by foot might be.

But Delia brought it up herself. ‘Is it okay if we get the bus? I think Mam might lock me up if I don’t have a ticket to prove we didn’t walk that far.’

And Trixie jumped in to clarify. ‘Oh gosh, sweetie, of course. You’ll be doing me a favour – heels were a bad choice today.’

Delia giggled, and Patsy grinned, for once glad of Trixie’s obsession with how she looked. Then Barbara’s stomach rumbled loudly, creating a further diversion, so she joked, ‘That’s a sign we should get moving, eh, Babs?’

Listening to the others laugh in good-natured sympathy as they shrugged on their coats, she tapped the youngest woman’s shoulder, motioning to Barbara that she should walk on the other side of Delia to offer an extra hand if needed, and to Trixie to link up with her own free arm. It was an extravagant way to walk out of work, but she’d missed them all being in the same space, and wanted to make the most of it. So she encouraged them to keep it up until they had to break apart to board the Number 15. But the lack of group contact was bearable then, because they paired off on the busy bus, and Delia let her head droop onto her shoulder as soon as they’d sat down.

Never mind Christmas Day; having expected this year to end very differently, _these snuggles_ were all the celebration she needed.

Well, almost, she thought pragmatically when her own stomach rumbled as the bus lurched to a stop and they got off to walk the rest of the way to the chippy.

She needed _food_ too.

Specifically haddock and chips, with marrowfat peas. But they’d taste so much better with a side order of cwtches. And the sound of her favourite laugh, as Delia nicked a chip or three, then pulled a face at the “ridiculous” amount of vinegar she’d put on.

Tonight would be the _best_ present she’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this read okay, and it was worth the long wait. Everyone's feedback has been so appreciated so far (including the gentle prompts to update!). This one was a significant one, so I didn't want to rush it! Hopefully the dynamic feels natural. A lot of it was me just fixing bits of canon I find uncomfortable, haha. But anyway, thank you for continuing to read and comment even with the gap. It means a lot - and the rest won't take so long. You may even notice there's been one more chapter added to the chapter count... 😉
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Am_Shady, I realised I should probably put a link to the song (and lyrics) Delia references in her speech, in case it's not immediately recognisable: https://youtu.be/KCUwpU8aMV0


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